The scarlet letter

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SCAELBT LETT

A ROMANCE

NATHASrEL HAWTHORNE

PHILADELPHIA

HENRY ALTBMUS
1S92

io6

^arvardA
university!

LIBRARY

PREFACE

THE SECOND EDITION

the author's surprise, and (if h
>ut additional offence) considera
he finds that his sketch of offic
The Scaklet Letter, has (
ed excitement in the respecti
aediately around him. It cou
lore violent, indeed, had he bui
-House, and quenched its last
e blood of a certain veDcrable
in he is supposed to cherish a pe
As the public disapprobation w<
' on him, were he conecious of dt
legB leave to say, that he has car
roductory pages, with a purpose
jttever might be found amiss, an
MuratioD in his power ibr the at

8 been adjudged guilty. But it appears
the only remarkable features of the sketch
and gennine good-humor, and the general
h which he haa conveyed hiB sincere im-
tbe charactere therein deicribed. Aa to
.-feeling of any kind, personal or political,
idaima Buch motives. The sketch might,
B been wholly omitted, without loss to the
triment to the book ; but, having under-
e it, he conceives that it could not have
a better or a kindlier spirit, nor, so far bs
ivailed, with a livelier effect of truth.
r b constrained, therefore, to republish hia
sketch without the change of a word.
eA 30, 1850.

CONTEITTS.

House. — Intkoduotobt .

aisoir-DooB . .

[ABEBT-FI.ACE

ITEKTIEW

I AT HEK Needle .

LF-ChILD and the MlUlSTBK .... 143

SECH 156

GECH AKD BIS Patient 170

FTEBIOB OS' A HeABT 1S4

raiSTEK's Vigil 194

BR VleW of HE3IER 210

1 AMD THE PhySICIAK 222

; AHD PEABL ""

contents.

Forest Walk 241

IE Pastor and his Parishioneb .... 260

Flood of Sunshine 264

IB Child at the Brook-side 273

IE MiHisTEE IB A Maze 283

IE New England Holiday 299

IB Rbtelatiok op thb Scarlih' LEiTEa . 327
iHCLusioii 340

THE CUSTOM-HOnS:

IKTRODUCTOEY TO " THE SCARLET LI

' IB a little remarkable, that — though dial
talk overmuch of myself and my af^rs i
i, and to my personal friends — an autobii
(ulse should twice in my life have taken
ne, in addressing the public. The first tlm<
Tour years since, when I favored the reai
ably, and for no earthly reason, that eitl
gent reader or the intrusive author could
h a description of my way of life in the
e of an Old Manse. And now — becauf

deserts, I was happy enough to find a I
I on the former occasion — I agfun seize the

button, and talk of my three years' espei
jtom-House. The example of the famot
rk of this Parish," was never more fait
ed. The truth aeems to be, however, tha
ts his leaves forth upon the wind, the authoi

the many who will filng aside his volumi
e it up, but the few who will understand 1
n moat of his schoolmates or lifemates.

8 THE aCAKLET LETTER.

thors, indeed, do far more than this, and indulge them-
Eelvea in such confidential depths of revelation as could
d, only and exclusively, to the one
lerfect sympathy ; as if the printed
e on the wide worid, were certain to
segment of the writer's own nature,
le of existence by bringing him into
It ia scarcely decorous, however,
here we speak impersonally. But,
iu and utterance benumbed, unless
n some true relation with his au-
irdonable to imi^^ine that a friend,
isive, though not the closest friend,
Ik ; and then, a native reserve being
ial consciousness, we may prate of
at lie around us, and even of ours^f,
moat Me behind its veil. To this
lese limits, an author, methinks, may
without violating either the reader's

likewise, that this Cuatom-House
propriety, of a kind always recog-
s explaining how a large portion of
I came into my possession, and as
) authenticity of a narrative thercio
I fact, — a desire to put myself in
editor, or very little more, of the
the tales that make up my volume,
:, is my true reason for assuming a

W'.

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE.

personal relation with the public. In accomplishing the
main purpose, it has appeared allowable, by a few extra
touches, to give a faint representation of a mode of life
not heretofore described, together with some of the char-
acters that move in it, among whom the author hap-
pened to make one.

In my native town of Salem, at the head of what,
half a century ago, in the days of old King Derby,
was a bustling wharf, — ^but which is now burdened |
with decayed wooden warehouses, and exhibits few or |
no symptoms of commercial life; except, perhaps, a
bark or brig, half-way down its melancholy length,
discharging hides ; or, nearer at hand, a Nova Scotia ^
schooner, pitching out her cargo of fire-wood, — at the ♦
head, I say, of this dilapidated wharf, which the tide i
often overflows, and along which, at the base and in •

the rear of the row of buildings, the track of many

languid years is seen in a border of unthrifty grass, —

here, with a view from its front windows adown this

not very enlivening prospect, and thence across the

harbor, stands a spacious edifice of brick. From the

loftiest point of its roof, during precisely three and a

half hours of each forenoon, floats or droops, in breeze

or calm, the banner of the republic ; but with the thir-

en stripes turned vertically, instead of horizontally,

i thus indicating that a civil, and not a military post

Uncle Sam's government, is here established. Its

*nt is ornamented with a portico of half a dozen

>den pillars, supporting a balcony, beneath which

10 THE SCARLET LETTEU.

flight of wide granite steps descends towards the street.
Over the entrance hovers an enormous specimen of the
American eagle, with outspread wings, a shield before
her breast, and, if I recollect aright, a bunch of inter-
mingled thunderbolts and barbed arrows in each claw.
With the customary infirmity of temper that charac-
terizes this unhappy fowl, she appears, by the fierce-
ness of her beak and eye, and the general truculency
of her attitude, to threaten mischief to the inofiensive
community ; and especially to warn all citizens, care-
ful of their safety, against intruding on the premises
which she overshadows with her wings. Nevertheless,
vixenly as she looks, many people are seeking, at this
very moment, to shelter themselves under the wing of
the federal eagle ; imagining, I presume, that her bosom
has all the softness and snugness of an eider-down pil-
low. But she has no great tenderness, even in her best
of moods, and, sooner or later, — oftener soon than late,
— ^is apt to fling ofi* her nestlings, with a scratch of her
claw, a dab of her beak, or a rankling wound from her
barbed arrows.

The pavement round about the above-described edifice
— which we may as well name at once as the Custom-
House of the port — ^has grass enough growing in its
chinks to show that it has not, of late days, been worn
by any multitudinous resort of business. In some
months of the year, however, there oftien chances a fore-
noon when aflairs move onward with a livelier tread.
Such occasions might remind the olderly citizen of that

THE CUST0a-H0U8E. 11

■re the last war with England, when Salem
by itself; not scorned, aa she is now, by her
nts and ship-owners, who permit her wharves
O ruin, while their ventures go to swell, need-
nperceptibly, the mighty flood of commerce
k or Boston. On some such morning, when
hree or four vessels happen to have arrived at once, —
isually from Africa or South America, — or to be on the
erge of their departure thitherward, there is a sound
f frequent feet, passing briskly up and down the granite
teps. Here, before his own wife has greeted him, you
lay greet the sea-flushed ebip-master, just in port, with
is vessel's papers under his arm, in a tarnished tin box.
lere, too, cornea his owner, cheerful or sombre, gracious
r in the aulka, accordingly as his scheme of the now
ecomplished voyage has been realized in merchandise
bat will readUy be turned to gold, or has buried him
nder a bulk of incommodities, such as nobody will care
1 rid him of. Here, likewise, — the germ of the wriii-
le-browed, grizzly-bearded, care-worn merchant, — wo
ave the smart young clerk, who gets the taste of traffic
a a wolf-cub does of blood, and already sends advcn-
jres in his master's ships, when he had better be sailing
limic-boats upon a mill-pond. Another figure in the
!ene is the outward-bound sailor, in quest of a protcc-
on ; or the recently arrived one, pale and feeble, seek-
ig a passport to the hospital. Nor must we forget the
^ptains of the rurty little schooners that bring fire-wood
:ora the British provinces; a rough-looking set of tup-

12 THE SCAKLET LETTER.

paulins, without the alertness of the Yankee aspect, but
contributing an item of no slight importance to our
decaying trade. iT

Cluster all these individuals together, ns they some-
times were, with other miscellaneous ones to diversify
the group, and, for the time being, it made the Custom-
House a stirring scene. More frequently, however, on
ascending the st^, you would discern — in the entry,
if it were summier time, or in their appropriate rooms,
if wintry or inclement weather — a row of venerable
figures, sitting in old-£Ashioned chairs, which were tipped
on their hind legs back against the wall. Oftentimes
they were asleep, but occasionally might be heard talk-
ing together, in voices between speech and a snore, and
with that lack of energy that distinguishes the occupants
of alms-houses, and all other human beings who depend
for subsistence on charity, on monopolized labor, or any-
thing else but their own independent exertions. These
old gentlemen — seated, like Matthew, at the receipt of
customs, but not very liable to be summoned thence,
like him, for apostolic errands — were Custom-House
officers.

Furthermore, on the left hand as you enter the front
door, is a certain room or office, about fifteen feet square,
and of a lofty height ; with two of its arched windows
commanding a view of the aforesaid dilapidated wharf,
and the third looking across a narrow lane, and along a
portion of Derby-street. All three give glimpses of the
shops of grocers, block-makers, slop-sellers, and ship-

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE. . 13

chandlers ; around the doors of which are generally to
be seen, laughing and gossiping, clusters of old salts,
and such other wharf-rats as haunt the Wapping of a
seaport. The room itself is cobwebbed, and dingy with
old paint; ite floor is strewn with gray sand, in a
fashion that has elsewhere fallen into long disuse ; and
' it is easy to conclude, from the general slovenliness of
the place, that this is a sanctuary into which woman-
kind, with her tools of magic, the broom and mop, has
very infrequent access. In the way of fiirniture, there
is a stove with a voluminous funnel ; an old pinv desk,
with a three-legged stool beside it ; two or three Wooden-
bottom chairs, exceedingly decrepit and infirm ; and-—
not to forget the library — on some shelves, a score or
two of volumes of the Acts of Congress, and a bulky
Digest of the Revenue Laws. A tin pipe ascends through
the ceiling, and forms a medium of vocal communication
with other parts of the edifice. And here, some six
months ago, — ^pacing from corner to corner, or lounging
on the long-legged stool, with his elbow on the desk,
and his eyes wandering up and down the columns of
the morning newspaper, — ^you might have recognized,
honored reader, the same individual who welcomed you
into his cheery little study, where the sunshine glim-
mered so pleasantly through the willow branches, on the
western side of the Old Manse. But now, should you
go thither to seek him, you would inquire in vain for the
Xiocofoco Surveyor. The besom of reform has swept

14 THE SCARLET LETTER.

■ A

him out of office ; and a worthier successor wears hia
dignity, and pockets his emoluments.

This old town of Salem — ^my native place, though I
have dwelt much away from it, both in boyhood and
maturer years — ^possesses, or did possess, a hold on my
affections, the force of which I have never realized dur-
ing my seasons of actual residence here. Indeed, so
far as its physical aspect is concerned, with its fiat,
unvaried surface, covered chiefly with wooden houses,
few or none of which pretend to architectural beauty,
— its irregularity, which is neither picturesque nor
quaint, but only tame, — its long and lazy street, loung-
ing wearisomely through the whole extent of the penin-
sula, with Gallows Hill and New Guinea at one end,
and a view of the alms-house at the other, — such being
the features of my native town, it would be quite as
reasonable to form a sentimental attachment to a dis-
arranged checker-board. And yet, though invariably
happiest elsewhere, there is within me a feeling for old
Salem, which, in lack of a better phrase, I must be
content to call affection. The sentiment is probably
assignable to the deep and aged roots which my family
has struck into the soil. It is now nearly two centuries
and a quarter since the original Briton, the earliest
emigrant of my name, made his appearance in the wild
and forest-bordered settlement, which has since become
a city. And here his descendants have been born and
died, and have mingled their early substance ^ith the
soil; until no small portion of it must* necessarily be

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE. 15

akin to the mortal frame wherewith, for a little while
I walk the streets. In part, therefore, the attachment
which I speak of is the mere sensuous sympathy of dust
for dust. Few of my countrymen can know what it is ;
nor, as frequent transplantation is perhaps better for
the stock, need they consider it desirable to know.

But the sentiment has likewise its moral quality.
The figure of that first ancestor, invested by family
tradition with a dim and ♦dusky grandeur, wa« present
to my boyish imagination, as far back aa I can remem-
ber. It still haunts me, and induces a sort of home-
feeling with the past, which I scarcely claim in refer-
ence to the present phase of the town. I seem to have
a stronger claim to a residence here on account of this
grave, bearded, sable-cloaked and steeple-crowned pro-
genitor, — who came so early, with his Bible and his
sword, and trode the unworn street with such a stately
port, and made so large a figure, as a man of war and
peace, — a stronger claim than for myself, whose name
is seldom heard and my face hardly known. He was
a soldier, legislator, judge; he was a ruler in the
Church; he had all the Puritanic traits, both good
and evil. He was likewise a better persecutor; as
witness the Quakers, who have remembered him in
their histories, and relate an incident of his hard
severity towards a woman of their sect, which will last
longer, it is to be feared, than any record of his better
deeds, although these were many. His son, too, in-
herited the persecuting spirit, and made himself s
2

F

16 THE SCARLET LETTER.

conspicuous in the martyrdom of the witches, that
their blood may fairly be said to have left a stain upon
him. So deep a stain, indeed, that his old dry bones,
in the Charter-street burial-ground, must still retain it,
if they have not crumbled utterly to dust I I know not
whether these ancestors of mine bethought themselves
to repent, and ask pardon of heaven for their cruelties ;
or whether they are now groaning under the heavy con^
sequences of them in another state of being. At all
events, I, the present writer, as their representative,
hereby take shame upon myself, for their sakes, and
pray that any curse incurred by them — as I have
heard, and as the dreary and unprosperous condition
of the race, for many a long year back, would argue to
exist — ^may be now and henceforth removed.

Doubtless, however, either of these stem and black-
browed Puritans would have thought it quite a suffi-
cient retribution for his sins, that, after so long a lapse
of years, the old trunk of the family tree, with so much
venerable moss upon it, should have borne, as its top-
most bough, an idler like myself. No aim, that I have
ever cherished, would they recognize as laudable ; no
success of mine — ^if my life, beyend its domestic scope,
had ever been brightened by success — would they deem
otherwise than worthless, if not positively disgraceful. '
" What is he ?" murmurs one gray shadow of my fore-
fathers to the other. " A writer of story-books I What
kind of a business in life, — ^^vhat mode of glorifying
God, or being serviceable to mankind in his day and

* rf

•*

t

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE. 17

generation, — may that be ? Why, the degenerate fel-
low might as well have been a fiddler !" Such are the
complimentB bandied between my great-grandsires and
mysell*, across the gulf of time I And yet, let them
scorn me as they will, strong traits of their nature
have intertwined themselves with mine.

Planted deep, in the town's earliest infancy and child-
hood, by these two earnest and energetic men, the race
has ever since subsisted here ; always, too, in respecta-
bility ; never, so far as I have known, disgraced by a
single unworthy member ; but seldom or never, on the
other hand, after the first two generations, performing
any memorable deed, or so much as putting forward a
claim to public notice. Gradually, they have sunk
almost out of sight; as old houses, here and there
about the streets, get covered half-way to the eaves by
the accumulation of new soil. From father to son, for
above a hundred years, they followed the sea ; a gray-
headed shipmaster, in each generation, retiring from
the quarter-deck to the homestead, while a boy of four-
teen took the hereditary place before the mast, con-
fronting the salt spray and the gale, which had blus-
tered against his sire and grandsire. The boy, also, in
due time, passed from the forecastle to the cabin, spent
tempestuous manhood, and returned from his world-
anderings, to grow old, and die, and mingle his dust
th the natal earth. This long connection of a family
ith one spot, as its place of birth and burial, creates
kindred between the human being and the locali"^

18 THE SCARLET LETTER.

quite independent of any charm in the scenery or
moral circumstances that surround him. It is not
love, but instinct. The new inhabitant — ^who came
himself from a foreign land, or whose father or grand-
father came — has little claim to be called a Salemite ;
he has no conception of the oyster-like tenacity with
which an old settler, over whom his third century is
creeping, clings to the spot where his successive genera-
tions have been imbedded. It is no matter that the
place is joyless for him ; that he is weary of the old
wooden houses, the mud and dust, the dead level of
site and sentiment, the chill east wind, and the chillest
of social atmospheres ; — all these, and whatever faults
besides he may see or imagine, are nothing to the pur-
pose. The spell survives, and just as powerfully as if
the natal spot were an earthly paradise. So has it
been in my case. I felt it almost as a destiny to make
Salem my home; so that the mould of features and
cast of character which had all along been familiar
here-ever, as one representative of the race lay down
in his grave, another assuming, as it were, his sentry-
march along the main street — might still in my little
day be seen and recognized in the old town. Never-
theless, this very sentiment is an evidence that the con-
nection, which has become an unhealthy one, should at
least be severed. Human nature will not flourish, any
more than a potato, if it be planted and replanted, for
too long a series of generations, in the same worn-out
~^il. My children have had other birthplaces, and,

y.

»
I

«

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE. 19

SO far as their fortunes may be within my control,
shall strike their roots into unaccustomed earth.

On emerging from the Old Manse, it was chiefly the
strange, indolent, unjoyous attachment for my native
town, that brought me to fill a place in Uncle Sam's
brick edifice, when I might as well, or better, have gone
somewhere else. My doom was on me. It was not the
first time, nor the second, that I had gone away, — as it
seemed, permanently, — but yet returned, like the bad
half-penny ; or as if Salem were for me the inevitable
centre of the universe. So, one fine morning, I ascended
the flight of granite steps, with the President's commis-
sion in my pocket, and was introduced to the corps of
gentlemen who were to aid me in my weighty responsi-
bility, as chief executive officer of the Custom-House.

I doubt greatly— or, rather, I do not doubt at all —
whether any public functionary of the United States,
either in the civil or military line, has ever had such a
patriarchal body of veterans under his orders as myself.
The whereabouts of the Oldest Inhabitant was at once
settled, when I looked at them. For upwards of twenty
years before this epoch, the independent position of the
Collector had kept the Salem Custom-House out of the
whirlpool of political vicissitude, which makes the ten-
ure of ofece generally so fragile. A soldier — ^New Eng-
land's most distinguished soldier — he stood firmly on
the pedestal of his gallant services; and, himself secure
in the wise liberality of the successive administrations
through which he had held office, he had been t'

20 THE SCARLET LETTER.

■ ■ ■ ■ , ■ ».i

safety of his subordinates in many an hour of danger
and heartquake. General Miller was radically con-
servative ; a man over whose kindly nature habit had
no slight influence ; attaching himself strongly to fa-
miliar faces, and with difficulty moved to change, even
when change might have brought unquestionable im-
provement. Thus, on taking charge of my department,
I found few but aged men. They were ancient sea-
captains, for the most part, who, after being tost on
every sea, and standing up sturdily against life's tem-
pestuous blast, had finally drifted into this quiet nook ;
where, with little to disturb them, except the periodical
terrors of a Presidential election, they one and all ac-
quired a new lease of existence. Though by no means
less liable than their fellow-men to age and infirmity,
they had evidently some talisman or other that kept
death at bay. Two or three of their number, sa I was
assured, being gouty and rheumatic, or perhaps bed-
ridden, never dreamed of making their appearance at
the Custom-House, during a large part of the year ; but,
after a torpid winter, would creep out into the warm
sunshine of May or June, go lazily about what they
termed duty, and, at their own leisure and convenience,
betake themselves to bed again. I must plead guilty
to the charge of abbreviating the ofiicial breath of
more than one of these venerable servants of the re-
public. They were allowed, on my representation, to
rest from their arduous labors, and soon afterwards —
"^ if their sole principle of life had been zeal for their

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE.

service ; as I verily believe
a better world. It is a pious
me, that, through my interference, a a
was allowed them for repentance of thi
rupt practices, into which, as a matter o
Custoni-Houee officer must be supposed tt
the &ont uor the back entrance of the
opens on the road to Paradise.

The greater part of my officers were 1
well for their venerable brotherhood tba
veyor was not a politician, and though a
crat in principle, neither received nor
with any reference to pohtical services.
otherwise,- — had an active politician bee
influential post, to assume the easy ts
head against a Whig Collector, whose ii
held him from the personal administrati
— hardly a man of the old corps woul
the breath of official life, within a mont
terminating angel had come up the
steps. According to the received code ii
it would have been nothing short of c
tician, to bring every one of those whit
the axe of the guillotine. It was plain
cem, that the old fellows dreaded some si
at my hands. It pained, and at the sam
me, to behold the terrors that attended i
see a furrowed cheek, weather-beaten by
of storm, turn ashy pale at the glance <

aa THE SCARLET LETTER.

an individual as myself; to detect, as one or aaotlicr
le, the tremor of a voice, which, in long-paet
been wont to bellow through a speakiug-
iraely enough to frighten Boreas himself to
ley knew, these excellent old persons, that
blished rule, — and, as regarded some of
,ed by their own lack of efficiency for busi-
ought to have given place to younger men,
lox in politics, and altogether fitter than
» serve our common Uncle. I knew it too,
:ver quite find in my heart to act upon the
Much and deservedly to my own discredit,
nd considerably to the detriment of my
cience, they continued, during my incura-
eep about the wharves, and loit«r up and
Tustom-House steps. They spent a good
i, also, asleep in their accustomed comera,
lairs tilted back against the wall ; awaking,
ce or twice in a forenoon, to bore one an-
the several thousandth repetition of old
ind mouldy jokes, that had grown to be
and countersigns among them.
ivery was soon made, I imagine, that the
or had no great harm in him. So, with
^rts, and the happy consciousness of being
ployed,— in their own behalf at least, if
beloved country, — these good old gentle-
through the various formalities of ofiioe.
, under their spectacles, did they peep into

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE. 23

the holds of vessels ! Mighty was their ftiss about lit-
tle matters, and marvellous, sometimes, the obtuseness
that allowed greater ones to slip between their fingers I
Whenever such a mischance occurred, — ^when a wagon-
load of valuable merchandise had been smuggled ashore,
at noonday, perhaps, and directly beneath their unsus-
picious noses, — nothing could exceed the vigilance and
alacrity with which they proceeded to lock, and double-
lock, and secure with tape and sealing-wax, all the
avenues of the delinquent vessel. Instead of a repri-
mand for their previous negligence, the case seemed
rather to require an eulogium on their priiiseworthy
caution after the mischief had happened ; a grateful
recognition of the promptitude of their zeal, the mo-
ment that there was no longer any remedy.

Unless people are more than commonly disagreeable, j '
it is my foolish habit to contract a kindness for them. '
The better part of my companion's character, if it have '
a better part, is that which usually comes uppermost
in my regard, and forms the type whereby I recognize
the man. As most of these old Custom-House officers
had good traits, and as my position in reference to
them, being paternal and protective, was favorable to
the growth of friendly sentiments, I soon grew to like
them all. It was pleasant, in the summer forenoons,
— when the fervent heat, that almost liquefied the rest
of the human family, merely communicated a genial
warmth to their half-torpid systems, — it waa pleasant to
\ hear them chatting in the back entry, a row of tb

24 THE SCARLET LETTER.

. -^

I all tipped against the wall, as usual ; while the frozen
I witticisms of past generations were thawed out, and
\ came bubbling with laughter from their lips. Exter-
• nally, the jollity of aged men has much in common
l^ ^ with the mirth of children; the intellect, any more
'> than a deep sense of humor, has little to do with the
matter ; it is, with both, a gleam that plays upon the
surface, and imparts a sunny and cheery aspect alike to
the green branch, and gray, mouldering trunk. In one
[ case, however, it is real sunshine ; in the other, it more
. resembles the phosphorescent glow of decaying wood.
It would be sad injustice, the reader must under-
stand, to represent all my excellent old friends as in
their dotage. In the first place, my coadjutors were-
not invariably old; there were men among them in
their strength and prime, of marked ability and energy,
and altogether superior to the sluggish and dependent
mode of life on which their evil stars had cast them.
Then, moreover, the white locks of age were sometimes
found to be the thatch of an intellectual tenement in
good repair. But, as respects the majority of my corps
of veterans, there will be no wrong done, if I charac-
terize them generally as a set of wearisome old souls,
who had gathered nothing worth preservation from
their varied experience of life. They seemed to have
flung away all the golden grain of practical wisdom,
which they had enjoyed so many opportunities of har-
vesting, and most carefully to have stored their memo-
•ies with the husks. They spoke with far more interest

hv.-

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE. 25

^■^a^^^— ^^■^^■^^^i^^^^i ■■■■■■■-■■■■■ — ■■■■ -■■- - ■-■—■■■— — 11 ■■i.iii^. ■ — ^i^^ . -■_.,,

and unction of their morning's breakfast, or yesterday's,
to-day's, or to-morrow's dinner, than of the shipwreck
of forty or fifty years ago, and all the world's wonders
which they had witnessed with their youthful eyes.

The father of the Custom-House — ^the patriarch,
not only of this little squad of officials, but, I am bold
to say, of the respectable body of tide-waiters all over
the United States — ^was a certain permanent Inspec-
tor. He might truly be termed a legitimate son of the
revenue system, dyed in the wool, or, rather, born in
the purple; since his sire, a Revolutionary colonel,
and formerly collector of the port, had created an office
for him, and appointed him to fill it, at a period of the
early ages which few living men can now remember.
This Inspector, when I first knew him, was a man of
four-score years, or thereabouts, and certainly one of
the most wonderftil specimens of winter-green that you l
would be likely to discover in a lifetime's search, i
With his florid cheek, his compact figure, smartly ar- j
rayed in a bright-buttoned blue coat, his brisk and j
vigorous step, and his hale and hearty aspect, alto- j ^
gether he seemed — ^not young, indeed — ^but a kind of
new contrivance of Mother Nature in the shape of
TTian, whom age and infirmity had no business to
ach. His voice and laugh, which perpetually re-
hoed through the Custom-House, had nothing of the \
Bmulous quaver and cackle of an old man's utter- 1
ice ; they came strutting out of his lungs, like the f
ow of a cock, or the blast of a clarion. Looking r

THE SCARLET LETTER.

;iy Bs an animal, — and there was very little
ook at, — he waa a moat eatisfactory object,

thorough healthfulness and wholesome uess
tem, and his capacity, at that extreme age, to

or nearly all, the delights which he had ever

or conceived of. The careless security of his
le Custom-House, on a regular income, and

slight and infrequent apprehensions of re-
ad DO doubt contributed to make time pass
ret him. The original and more potent causes,
lay in the rare perfection of his animal na-
moderate proportion of intellect, and the very
Jmixture of moral and spiritual ingredients ;
«r qualities, indeed, being in barely enough
to keep the old gentleman from walking on

He possessed no power of thought, no depth
g, no troublesome sensibilities; nothing, in
t a few commonplace instincts, which, aided
leerfiil temper that grew inevitably out of bis
well-being, did duty very respectably, and to
icceptance, in lieu of a heart. He bad been
ind of three wives, all long since dead ; the
twenty children, most of whom, at every age
ood or maturity, had likewise returned to
ere, one would suppose, might have been sor-
gh to imbue the sunniest disposition, through
igh, with a sable tinge. Not so with our old
■! One brief sigh sufficed to carry off the en-
en of these dismal reminiscences. The next

4.-

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE. 27

moment, he was as ready for sport as any unbreeched
infant ; tar readier than the Collector's junior clerk,
who, at nineteen years, was much the elder and graver
man of the two.

I used to watch and study this patriarchal personage
with, I think, livelier curiosity, than any other form
of humanity there presented to my notice. He was, in
truth, a rare phenomenon ; so perfect, in one point of
view ; so shallow, so delusive, so impalpable, such an
absolute nonentity, in every other. My conclusion was
that he had no soul, no heart, no mind ; nothing, as I
have already said, but instincts; and yet, withal, so
cunningly had the few materials of his character been
put togetl\er, that there was no painful perception of
deficiency, but, on my part, an entire contentment with
what I found in him. It might be difficult — and it
was so-^to conceive how he should exist hereafter, so
earthly and sensuous did he seem ; but surely his exist-
ence here", admitting that it was to terminate with his
last breath, had been not unkindly given; with no
higher moral responsibilities than the beasts of the
field, but with a larger scope of enjoyment than theirs,
and with all their blessed immunity from the dreari-
ness and duskiness of age.

One point, in which he had vastly the advantage
over his four-footed brethren, was his ability to recol-
lect the good dinners which it had made no small por-
tion of the happiness of his life to eat. His gourmand-
ism was a highly agreeable trait ; and to hear him tfi

THE SCABLET LETTER.

eat waa as appetizing as a pickle or an oyster,
reseed no higher attribute, and neither sacri-
vitiated any spiritual endowment by devoting
Tgiea and ingenuities to subserve the delight
of his maw, it always pleased and satisfied
- him expatiate on fish, poultry, and butcher's
the most eligible methods of preparing them
lie. His reminiscences of good cheer, bow-
nt the date of the actual banquet, seemed to
savor of pig or turkey under one's very nos-
;re were Savors on his palate, that had lin-
-e not less than sixty or seventy years, and
apparently as fresh as that of the mutton-
h he had just devoured for his break^t. I
d him smack his lips over diqners, every
hich, except himself, had long been food for
t was marvellous to observe how the ghosts
meals were continually rising up before him ;
er or retribution, but as if grateful for his
ireciation, and seeking to repudiate an end-
af enjoyment, at once shadowy and sensual,
oin of beef, a hind-^juarter of veal, a spare-
rk, a particular chicken, or a remarkably
by turkey, which had perhaps adorned his
;he days of the elder Adams, would be re-
; while all the subsequent experience of our
all the events that brightened or darkened
ual career, had gone over him with as little
effect as the passing breeze. The chief

w^ —

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE. 29

^—^—■——■^1 ■■■■■■ ■ I I 11 ^1 ■ ■! — I ■ I ■ m^ ^ I I I. .■■ ■■» ■ !■ I Ullll ■ IB^^^— ■■»■■ ■ I— — ^^— ^— — I Mill ■

tragic event of the old man's life, so far as I could
judge, was his mishap with a certain goose, which
lived and died some twenty or forty years ago ; a
goose of most promising figure, but which, at table,
proved so inveterately tough that the carving-knife
Would make no impression on its carcass, and it could
only be divided with an axe and handsaw.

But it is time to quit this sketch ; ou which, how-
ever, I should be glad to dwell at considerably more
length, because, of all men whom I have ever known,
this individual was fittest to be a Custom-House officer.
Most persons, owing to causes which I may not have
space to hint at, suffer moral detriment from this pecu-
liar mode of life. The old Inspector was incapable of
it ; and, were he to continue in office to the end of time,
would be just as good as he was then, and sit down to
dinner with just as good an appetite.

There is one likeness, without which my gallery of
Custom-House portraits would be strangely incomplete ;
but which my comparatively few opportunities for ob-
servation enable me to sketch only in the merest out-
line. It is that of the Collector, our gallant old Gen-
eral, who, after his brilliant military service, subse-
quently to which he had ruled over a wild Western
ritory, had come hither, twenty years before, to
end the decline of his varied and honorable life,
e brave soldier had already numbered, nearly or
ite, his threescore years and ten, and was pursuing
3 remainder of his earthly march, burdened with ''

THE BCAKLET LETTER.

ffhich even the martial music of his own spirit-
ecoUeetions could do little towards lighteniDg,
was palsied dow, that had been foremost in
;e. It was only with the asaistaoue of a ser-
i by leaning his hand heavily on the iron
e, that he could slowly and painfully ascend
im-House steps, and, with a toilsome progress
i floor, attain his customary chair beside the

There he used to sit, gazing with a some-
1 serenity of aspect at the figures that came
; amid the rustle of papers, the administering
the discussion of business, and the casual talk
ice ; all which sounds and circumstances seem-
distinctly to impress bis senses, and bardly to
lir way into his inner sphere of contemplation,
tenance, in this jepose, was mild and kindly,
^ice was sought, an expression of courtesy and
;learaed out upon his features; proving that
8 light within him, and that it was only the
medium of the intellectual lamp that obstruct-
ys in their passi^. The closer you penetrated
[(stance of his mind, the sounder it appeared.
I longer called upon to speak, or listen, either
operations cost him an evident efibrt, his face
'iefly subside into its former not uncheerful

It was not painful to behold this look ; for,
im, it had not the imbecility of decaying age.
icwork of his nature, originally strong and
was not yet crumbled into ruin.

THE CUSTOM-HOtTSE. 31

rve and define his character, however, under
vantages, was aa difficult a task as to trace
lild up anew, in imagination, an old tbrtresa,
ieroga, from a view of its graj and broken
are and there, perchance, the walla may re-
)Bt complete ; but elsewhere may be only a
aound, cumbrous with its very strength, and
, through long years of peace and n^lect,
and alien weeds.
elesa, looking at the old warrior with afieo-
slight as was the communication between
ling towards him, like that of all bipeds and
s who knew him, might not improperly be
, — I could discern the main points of his
It waa marked with the noble and heroic
hich showed it to be not by a mere accident,
but of good right, that he had won a distinguished
name. His spirit could never, I conceive, have been
characterized by an uneasy activity ; it must, at any
period of his life, have required an impulse to set him
in motion ; but, once stirred up, with obstacles to over-
come, and an adequate object to be attained, it was not
in the man to give out or fail. The heat that had for-
merly pervaded his nature, and which was not yet ex-
tinct, was never of the kind that flashes and Bickers in
a blaze ; but, rather, a deep, red glow, as of iron in a
furnace. Weight, solidity, firmness ; this was the ex-
pression of his repose, even in such decay as had crept
untimely over him, at the pferjod of which I speak. P

32 THE SCARLET LETTER.

I could imagine, even then, that, under some excitement
which should go deeply into his consciousness, — roused
by a trumpet-peal, loud enough to awaken all of his
energies that were not dead, but only slumbering, — ^he
wa3 yet capable of flinging off his infirmities like a sick
man's gown, dropping the staff of age to seize a battle-
sword, and starting up once more a warrior. And, in
so intense a moment, his demeanor would have still been
calm. Such an exhibition, however, was but to be
pictured in fancy ; not to be anticipated, nor desired.
What I saw in him — ^as evidently as the indestructible
ramparts of Old Ticonderoga, already cited as the most
appropriate simile — ^were the features of stubborn and
ponderous endurance, which might well have amounted
to obstinacy in his earlier days ; of integrity, that, like
most of his other endowments, lay in a somewhat heavy
mass, and was just as unmalleable and unmanageable as
a ton of iron ore ; and of benevolence, which, fiercely
as he led the bayonets on at Chippewa or Fort Erie, I
take to be of quite as genuine a stamp as what actuates
any or all the polemical philanthropists of the age. He
had slain men with his own hand, for aught I know ; —
certainly, they had fallen, like blades of grass at the
sweep of the scythe, before the charge to which his spirit
imparted its triumphant energy; — ^but, be that as it
might, there was never in his heart so much cruelty as
would have brushed the down off a butterfly's wing. I
have not known the man, to whose innate kindliness I
would more confidently make an appeal.

JSTOM-HOUSB. 33

—and those, too, wtich coctrib-

[j to impart resemblance in a

Ished, OF been obscured, before

I merely graceful attributes are

«nt ; nor does Nature adorn the

IS of new beauty, that have tbeir

roots and proper nutriment only in the chinks and crev<

ices of decay, as she sows wall-flowers over the ruined

fortress of Ticonderoga. Still, even in respect of grace

and beauty, there were points well worth noting, A ray

of humor, now and then, would make its way through

he veil of dim obstruction, and glimiiier pleasautly upon

mr faces. A trait of native el^;ance, seldom seen in

he masculine character after childhood or early youth,

vaa shown in the General's fondness for the sight and

iragrance of flowers. An old soldier might be supposed

o prize only the bloody laurel on his brow ; but here

ras one, who seemed to have a young girl's appreciation

if the floral tribe.

There, beside the fireplace, the brave old Gieneral
ised to sit ; while the Surveyor — ^though seldom, when
t could be avoided, taking upon himself the difficult
ask of enga^ng him in conversation — was fond of
tanding at a distance, and watching his quiet and
ilmost slumberous countenance. Heseemed away from
IB, although we saw him but a few yards off; remote,
hough we passed close Ijeside his chair; unattainable,
;hough we might have stretched forth our hands and
Auched his own. It might be that he lived a more re-

^m:>

per**^*^

M' '

' v\'A •

,.V,

' /

84 THE SCARLET LETTER.

■ ■ ■ I . ^

life within his thoughts, than amid the unappropriate
environment of the Collector's office. The evolutions
jL^^ of the parade ; the tumult of the battle; the flourish of
old, heroic music, heard thirty years before; — such
scenes and sounds, perhaps, were all alive before his
intellectual sense. Meanwhile, the merchants and ship-
masters, the spruce clerks and uncouth sailors, entered
and departed; the bustle of this commercial and Cus-
tom-House life kept up its little murmur round about
him ; and neither with the men nor their aflairs did the
General appear to sustain the most distant relation. He
was as much out of place as an old sword — ^now rusty,
but which had flashed once in the battle's front, and
showed still a bright gleam along its blade — would have
been, among the inkstands, paper-folders, and mahogany
rulers, on the Deputy Collector's desk.

There was one thing that much aided me in renew-
ing and re-creating the stalwart soldier of the Niagara
frontier, — the man of true and simple energy. It was
the recollection of those memorable words of his, —
" I'll try. Sir !" — spoken on the very verge of a des-
perate and heroic enterprise, and breathing the soul
and spirit of New England hardihood, comprehending
all perils, and encountering all. If, in our country,
sralor were rewarded by heraldic honor, this phrase —
which it seems so easy to speak, but which only he, with
such a task of danger and glory before him, has ever
spoken — ^would be the best and fittest of all mottoes
for the General's shield of arms.

iUSTOM-HOOSB. 35

<{ towards a man's moral and in-
brought into habits of compan-
is unlike himeelf, who care little
.086 sphere and abilities he must
ipreciate. The accidents of my
I me this advantage, but never
variety than during my continu-
iras one man, especially, the ob-
iracter gave me a new idea of
emphatically those of a man of
; clear-minded ; with an eye that
dticfl, and a &culty of arraoge-
vanish, as by the waving of an
ed up &om boyhood in the Cus-
iroper field of activity ; and the
unesB, BO harassing to the inter-
Ives before him with the regular-
sbended system. Id my contem-
ideal of his class. He was, in-
tin himself; or, at all eveDla, tbe
ts variously revolving wheels in
^tion like this, where its officers
■ve their own profit and conve-
1 a leading reference to their fit-
performed, they must perforce
srity which is not in them. Thus,
uty, as a magnet attracts steel-
of business draw to himself the
■body met with. With an ea*

36 THE SCARLET LETTER.

condescension, and kind forbearance towards our stupid-
ity, — ^which, to his order of mind, must have seemed
little short of crime, — would he forthwith, by the merest
touch of his finger, make the incomprehensible as clear
as daylight. The merchants valued him not less than
we, his esoteric friends. His integrity was perfect ; it
was a law of nature with him, rather than a choice or
a principle ; nor can it be otherwise than the main con-
dition of an intellect so remarkably clear and accurate
as his, to be honest and regular in the administration
of afiSurs. A stain on his conscience, as to anything that
came within the range of his vocation, would trouble
such a man very much in the same way, though to a far
greater degree, than an error in the balance of an ac-
count, or an ink-blot on the fair page of a book of record.
Here, in a word, — and it is a rare instance in my life, —
I had met with a person thoroughly adapted to the situ-
ation which he held.

Such were some of the people with whom I now
found myself connected. I took it in good part, at the
hands of Providence, that I was thrown into a position
so little akin to my past habits ; and set myself seriously
to gather from it whatever profit was to be had. After
my fellowship of toil and impracticable schemes with
the dreamy brethren of Brook Farm ; after living for
three years within the subtile influence of an intellect
like Emerson's ; after those wild, free days on the Assa-
beth, indulging fantastic speculations, beside our fire of
feUen boughs, with Ellery Channing ; after talking with

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE. 37

about pine-trees aud Indian relica, id his her-

t Walden ; after growing fiiai
the classic refinement of I

Dming imbued with poetic fie

dearth-stone ;— it was time,

cercise other faculties of my i

f with food for which I had 1
Even the old Inspector w.
w....^^^ »f diet, to a man who had k
looked upon it as aji evidence, in soi
system naturally well balanced, and
tial part of a thorough organization
associates to remember, I could mingle
of altogether different qualities, and
the change.

Literature, its exertions and objects,
moment in my regard. I cared not, i
books ; they were apart from me. N
were human nature, — the nature thai
earth and sky, was, in one sense, hiddi
all the imaginative delight, wherewith :
ualized, passed away out of my mind.
if it had not departed, was suBpende
within me. There would have beei
unutterably dreary, in all this, bad I n
that it lay at my own option to reci
valuable in the past. It might be true
waa a life which could not, with impu
long ; else, it might roako me perman

38 THE SCAHLET LETTER.

I had been, without tranaforming me into any shape
which it would be worth my while to take. But I never
I other than a transitory life. There was
letie instinct, a low whisper in my ear,
long period, and whenever a new change
lid be essential to my good, a change

here I was, a Surveyor of the Bevenue,
have been able to understand, as good a
ed be. A man of thought, iancy, and
I be ten times the Surveyor's proportion
»,) may, at any time, be a man of affairs,
choose to give himself the trouble. My
tnd the merchants and sea-captains with
ial duties brought me into any manner
'iewed me in no other light, and probably
other character. None of them, I pre-
: read a page of my inditing, or would
; the more for me, if they had read them
it have mended the matter, in the least,
unprofitable pages been written with a
' Bums or of Chaucer, each of whom was
le officer in his day, as well as I, It is a
hough it may often be a hard one — for
dreamed of literary fame, and of making
nk among the world's digpttitaries by such
aside out of the narrow circle in which
ecognizcd, and to find bow utterly devoid
beyond that circle, is all that he achieves,

i^jf^ ;, •

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE. 39

^■— — ™ I ■ 11 t^— ■ I ■■■■■■■■■■ — ■ - - ■ ■ ■ ■■*■■■ » M .» ■ ■ ■■ ■•

and all he aims at. I know not that I espedally needed
the lesson, either in the way of warning or rebuke ; but,
at any rate, I learned it thoroughly: nor, it gives me
pleasure to reflect, did the truth, as it came home to my
perception, ever cost me a pang, or require to be thrown
off in a sigh. In the way of literary talk, it is true, the
Naval Officer — an excellent fellow, who came into office
I with me and went out only a little later — would often

■^ engage me in a discussion about one or the other of his

\ favorite topics, Napoleon or Shakespeare. The Collect-
; . or's junior clerk, too, — a young gentleman who, it waa
whispered, occasionally covered a sheet of Uncle Sam's
letter-paper with what (at the distance of a few yards)
looked very much like poetry, — used now and then to
speak to me of books, as matters with which I might
possibly be conversant. This was my all of lettered
intercourse ; and it was quite sufficient for my necessities^
No longer seeking nor caring that my name should
be blazoned abroad on title-pages, I smiled to think that
it had now another kind of vogue. The Custom-House
marker imprinted it, with a stencil and black paint, on
pepper-bags, and baskets of anatto, and cigar-boxes, and
bales of all kinds of dutiable merchandise, in testimony
that these commodities had paid the impost, and gone
regularly through the office. Borne on such queer vehi-
cle of fame, a knowledge of my existence, so far as a
name conveys it, was carried where it had never been
»/efore, and, I hope, will never go again.
But the past was not dead. Once in a great wbile^

40 THE SCARLET LETTER.

the thoughts, that had seemed so vital and so active, yet
had been put to rest so quietly, revived again. One of
the most remarkable occasions, when the habit of by-
gone days awoke in me, was that which brings it within
the law of literary propriety to oflfer the public the
sketch which I am now writing.

In the second story of the Custom-House there is a
large room, in which the brick-work and naked rafters
have never been covered with panelling and plaster.
The edifice — originally projected on a scale adapted to
the old commercial enterprise of the port, and with an
idea of subsequent prosperity destined never to be real-
ized — contains far more space than its occupants know
what to do with. This airy hall, therefore, over the
Collector's apartments, remains unfinished to this day,
and, in spite of the aged cobwebs that festoon its dusky
beams, appears still to await the labor of the carpenter
and mason. At one end of the room, in a recess, were
a number of barrels, piled one upon another, contain-
ing bundles of official documents. Large quantities of
similar rubbish lay lumbering the floor. It was sorrow-
ful to think how many days, and weeks, and months,
and years of toil had been wasted on these musty
papers, which were now only an encumbrance on earth,
and were hidden away in this forgotten corner, never
more to be glanced at by human eyes. But, then, what
reams of other manuscripts — ^filled not with the dulness
of official formalities, but with the thought of inventive

\

THE CUSTOM-HOUBE.

brains and the rich efiuston of deep he
equally to oblivion ; aud that, moreore
iDg a purpose in their day, as these he
had, and — saddest of all — without purcl
writers the comfortable livelihood wl
of the Custom-House had gained by i
scratchingB of the pen ! Yet not altog<
perhaps, as materials of local history. ]
statistics of the former commerce of S
discovered, and memorials of her prini
—old King Derby,— old Billy Gray,— .
rester, — and many another magnate in
powdered head, however, was scarcely
before his mountain-pile of wealth begi
The founders of the greater part of the
now compose the aristocracy of Salem
traced, from the petty and obscure begi
traffic, at periods generally much pc
Revolution, upward to what their child

Prior to the Revolution, there is a des
the earlier documents and archives of the
having, probably, been carried off to H«
the King's ofiicials accompanied the I
Its flight from Boston. It has often bei
regret with me ; for, going back, perha:
of the Protectorate, those papers must I
many references to forgotten or rememl
to antique customs, which would have ai

THE SCARLET UTTTER.

pleasure aa when I used to pick up Indiaa
da in the field near the Old Manse.
e idle and rainy day, it was my fortune to
scovery of some little interest Poking and
; into the heaped-up ruhbish in the comer ;
one and another document, and reading the
vessels that had long ago foundered at aea or
the wharves, and those of merchante, never
now on 'Change, nor very readily decipher
heir mossy tombstones; glancing at such
ith the saddened, weary, half-reluctant in-
ch we bestow on the corpse of dead activity,
erting my fency, sluggish with little use, to
from these dry bones an image of the old
ighter aspect, when India was a new region
^lem knew the way thither, — I chanced to
ind on a small package, careiiilly done up in
' ancient yellow parchment. This envelope
ir of an official record of some period long
I clerks engrossed their stiff and formal chirog-
more substantial materials than at present.
i something about it that quickened an in-
curiosity, and made me undo the iaded red
tied up the package, with the sense that a
ould here be brought to light. Unbending
bids of the parchment cover, I found it to be
lion, under the hand and seal of Governor
L favor of one Jonathan Pue, as Surveyor of
ly's Customs for the port of Salem, in the

THE CDSTOM-HOUSE. 43

X of Maeeachusetts Bay. I remembered to
ad (probably in Felt's Anoala) a notice of ilie
of Mr. Surveyor Pue, about foursc
id likewise, in a newspaper of recent
, of the digging up of his remains in
ard of 8t. Peter's Church, during thi
edifice. Nothing, if I rightly call to :
my respected predecessor, save an
1, and some frt^iments of apparel, anc
; frizzle ; which, unlike the head thi
I, wa8 in very satisfactory preservati
mining the paperB which the parchs
served to envelop, I found more trat
lental part, and the internal operatic
lan the frizzled wig had contained of
ikull itself.

were documents, in short, not official
nature, or, at least, written in iiis pri'
city, and apparently with bis own hand. I
count for their being included in the heap oi
House lumber only by the fiict that Mr. Pi
bad happened suddenly ; and that these papi
he probably kept in his official desk, had ni
to the knowledge of his heirs, or were suppc
late to the business of the revenue. On th'
of the archives to Halifax, this pack^;e, proi
of no public coucern, was left behind, and had
ever since unopened.
The ancient Surveyor — ^being little molest

44 THE SCARLET LETTER.

pose, at that early day, with business pertaining to his
office — seems to have devoted some of his many leisure
hours to researches as a local antiquarian, and other
inquisitions of a similar nature. These supplied mate-
rial for petty activity to a mind that would otherwise
have been eaten up with rust. A portion of his facts,
by the by, did me good service in the preparation of
the article entitled " Main Street," included in the
present volume. The remainder may perhaps be ap-
plied to purposes equally valuable, hereafter ; or not
impossibly may be worked up, so far as they go, into
a regular history of Salem, should my veneration for
the natal soil ever impel me to so pious a task. Mean-
while, they shall be at the command of any gentleman,
inclined, and competent, to take the unprofitable labor
oif my hands. As a final disposition, I contemplate
depositing them with the Essex Historical Society.

But the object that most drew my attention, in the
mysterious package, was a certain affair of fine red
cloth, much worn and faded. There were traces about
it of gold embroidery, which, however, was greatly
frayed and defaced ; so that none, or very little, of the
glitter was left. It had been wrought, as was easy to
perceive, with wonderftil skill of needlework ; and the
stitch (as I am assured by ladies conversant with such
mysteries) gives evidence of a now forgotten art, not
to be recovered even by the process of picking out the
threads. This rag of scarlet cloth, — ^for time, and wear,
and a sacrilegious moth, had reduced it to little other

TDBTOU-HOITSE. 45

1 examination, aaeuined the shape
of a letter. It was the capital letter A. By an accu-
rate meafiurement, each limb proved to be pre<^l7
three inches and a quarter in length. It had been in-
tended, there could be no doubt, as an ornamental
article of dress ; but how it was to be worn, or what
rank, honor, and dignity, in by-past times, were signi-
fied by it, was a riddle which (so evanescent are the
faebions of the world in these particulars) I saw little
hope of solving. And yet it strangely interested me.
My eyes fastened themselves upon the old scarlet letter,
and would not be turned aside. Certainly, there was
some deep meaning in it, most worthy of interpretation,
and wliich, as it were, streamed forth &om the mystic
symbol, subtly communicating itself to my sensibilities,
but evading the analysis of my mind.

While thus perplexed, — and cogitating, among other
hypothesee, whether the letter might not have been one
of those decorations which the white men used to con-
trive, in order to take the eyes of Indians, — I happened
to place it on my breast. It seemed to me, — the reader
may smile, but must not doubt my word, — it seemed to
me, then, that I experienced a sensation not altogether
physical, yet almost so, as of burning heat ; and as if
the letter were not of red cloth, but red-hot iron, I
shuddered, and involuntarily let it fall upon the floor.

In the absorbing contemplation of the scarlet letter, I
had hitherto ntglected to examine a small roll of dingy
paper, around which it had been twisted. This I now

THB SCARLET LETTER.

and had the eatisfaction to find, recorded hy
Surveyor'fl pen, a reasonably complete explana-
,he whole aifair. There were several foobcap
<oataiuing many paiticulara reepccting the life
versatiou of one Hester Prynne, who appeared

been rather a noteworthy personage in the
our ancestors. She had fiourished during the
etween the early days of Massachusetts and the
the seventeenth century. Aged persons, alive
me of Mr. Surveyor Pue, and from whose oral
y he had made up hia narrative, remembered
their youth, as a very old, but not decrepit
of a stately and solemn aspect. It had been
t, from an almost immemorial date, to go about
itry as a kind of voluntary nurse, and doing
r miscellaneous good she might ; taking upon
ikewise, to give advice in all matters, especially

the heart; by which means, as a person of
>pensities inevitably must, she gained from
iople the reverence due to an angel, but, I
magine, was looked upon by others as an in-
ad a nuisance. Prying fiirther into the manu-
found the record of other doings and sufferings
ngular woman, for most of which the reader is
to the story entitled " The Scaelet Letter ;"
ould be borne carefully in mind that the main
hat story are authorized and authenticated by
nentofMr. Surveyor Pue. The original papers,
with the scarlet letter itself, — a most c

THE CT7STOM-H0USE. 47

still in my possession, and shall be freely
exhibited to whomsoever, induced by the great interest
of the Darrative, may desire a sight of them. I must
not be understood as affirming that, in the dressing up
of the tale, and imagining the motives and modes of
passion that influenced the characters who figure In it,
I have invariably confined myself within the limits of
the old Surveyor's half a dozen sheets of foolscap. On
.the contrary, I have allowed myself, as to such points,
nearly or altogether as much license as if the facts had
been entirely of my own invention. What I contend
for is the authenticity of the outline.

This incident recalled my mind, in some degree, to its
old track. There seemed to be here the ground-work
of a tale. It impressed me as if the ancient Surveyor,
in his garb of a hundred years gone by, and wearing hie
immortal wig, — which was buried with him, but did not
perish in the grave,— had met me in the deserted cham-
ber of the Castom-House. In his port was the dignity
of one who had borne bis Majesty's commission, and who
was therefore illuminated by a ray of the splendor that
shone so dazzlingly about the throne. How unlike, alasl
the hang-dog look of a republican official, who, as the
servant of the people, feels himself less than the least,
and below the lowest, of his masters. With bis own
ghostly hand, the obscurely seen but majestic figure had
imparted to me the scarlet sjrmbol, and the little roll of
explanatory manuscript. With his own ghostly voice,
he had exhorted me, on the sacred consideration of m;

48 THE SCARLET LETTER.

filial duty and reverence towards him, — who might rea-
sonably regard himself as my official ancestor, — ^to bring
his mouldy and moth-eaten lucubrations before the pub-
lic. " Do this," said the ghost of Mr. Surveyor Pue,
emphatically nodding the head that looked so imposing
within its memorable wig, " do this, and the profit shall
be all your own I You will shortly need it ; for it is not
in your days as it was in mine, when a man's office was
a life-lease, and oftentimes an heirloom. But, I charge
you, in this matter of old Mistress Prynne, give to your
predecessor's memory the credit which will be rightfiiUy
due !" And I said to the ghost of Mr. Surveyor Pue,
" I will !"

On Hester Prynne's story, therefore, I bestowed much
thought. It was the subject of my meditations for many
an hour, while pacing to and fro across my room, or
traversing, with a hundred-fold repetition, the long ex-
tent from the front-door of the Custom-House to the
side-entrance, and back again. Great were the weari-
ness and annoyance of the old Inspector and the
Weighers and Gangers, whose slumbers were disturbed
by the unmercifally lengthened tramp of my passing
and returning footsteps. Remembering their own for-
mer habits, they used to say that the Surveyor was walk-
ing the quarter-deck. They probably fancied that my
sole object — and, indeed, the sole object for which a sane
man could ever put himself into voluntary motion, —
was, to get an appetite for dinner. And to say the truth,
an appetite, sharpened by the east wind that generally

f

I

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE. 49

long the passage, was the only valuable result of
h indefatigable exercise. Bo little adapted ia the
atmosphere of a Custom-House to the delicate harvest
f f&Qcy and sensibility, that, had I remained there
brough ten Presidencies yet to come, I doubt whether
be tale of " The Scarlet Letter " would ever have been
rought before the public eye. My imagination waa a
imbhed mirror. It would not reflect, or only with
liserable dimness, the figures with which I did my best
) people it The characters of the narrative would not
e warmed and rendered malleable by any heat that I
9uld kindle at my intellectual forge. They would take
either the glow of passion nor the tenderness of senti-
lent, but retained all the rigidity of dead corpses, and
;ared me in the face with a fixed and ghastly grin of
intemptuous defiance. " What have yon to do with
s V that expression seemed to say. " The little power
DU might once have possessed over the tribe of unreali-
ea is gone 1 You have bartered it for a pittance of the
iiblicgold. Go, then, and earn your wages I" In short,
le almost torpid creatures of my own fancy twitted me
ith imbecility, and not without fair occasion.
It was not merely during the three hours and a half
hich Uncle Sam claimed as his share of my daily life,
lat this wretched numbness held possession of me. It
ent with me on my sea-shore walks, and rambles into
le country, whenever — which was seldom and reluct-
itly — I bestirred myself to seek that invigorating
larm of Nature, which used to give me such freshnf^-

50 THE SCARLET LETTER.

■ ■ ' ■ ■ ■ ■ ■ »

and activity of thought, the moment that I stepped
across the threshold of the Old Manse. The same tor-
por, as regarded the capacity for intellectual eflfort, ac-
companied me home, and weighed upon me in the cham-
ber which I most absurdly termed my study. Nor did
it quit me, when, late at night, I sat in the deserted
parlor, lighted only by the glimmering coal-fire and the
moon, striving to picture forth imaginary scenes, which,
the next day, might flow out on the brightening page in
many-hued description.

If the imaginative faculty refused to act at such an
hour, it might well be deemed a hopeless case. Moon-
light, in a familiar room, falling so white upon the car-
pet, and showing all its figures so distinctly, — ^making
every object so minutely visible, yet so unlike a morning
or noontide visibility, — is a medium the most suitable
for a romance-writer to get acquainted with his illusive
guests. There is the little domestic scenery of the well-
known apartment ; the chairs, with each its separate in-
dividuality ; the centre-table, sustaining a work-basket,
a volume or two, and an extinguished lamp ; the sofa ;
the book-case ; the picture on the wall ; — ^all these de-
tails, 80 completely seen, are so spiritualized by the un^
usual light that they seem to lose their actual substance,
and become things of intellect. Nothing is too small or
too trifling to undergo this change, and acquire dignity
thereby. A child's shoe ; the doll, seated in her little
wicker carriage ; the hobby-horse ; — whatever, in a word,
has been used or played with, during the day, is now in-

THE CUSTOM-MOUSE.

invested with a quality of strangeness and
though still almost as vividly present aa
Thus, therefore, the floor of our &miliar r
come a neutral territory, somewhere betw
world and feiry-land, where the Actual an
inary may meet, and each imbue itself wit
of the other. Ghosts might enter here, wit>
ing us. It would be too much in keeping w
to excite surprise, were we to look about ub i
a form, beloved, but gone hence, now sittir
a streak of this magic moonshine, with an
would make us doubt whether it had returm
or had never once stirred from our fireside
The somewhat dim coal-fire has an essent
in producing the effect which I would (
throws its uDofatrusive tinge throughout th
a faint ruddiness upon the walls and ceilli
fleeted gleam from the polish of the fum
warmer light mingles itaelf with the cold sj
the moonbeams, and communicates, as it «
and sensibilities of human tenderness to the
fancy summons up. It converts them from
into men and women. Glancing at the li
we behold — deep within ita haunted verge-
deringglowof the half-extinguished anthrac
moonbeams on the floor, and a repetition of i
and shadow of the picture, with one remove
the a<!tual, and nearer to the imaginativ
such an hour, and with this scene before h:

52 THE SCARLET LETTER.

' " ' ' ■ ■ . ..I .III II ^

sitting all alone, cannot dream strange things, and make
them look like truth, he need never tr}' to write romances.

But, for myself, during the whole of my Custom-
House experience, moonlight and sunshine, and the glow
of fire-light, were just alike in my regard ; and neither
of them was of one whit more avail than the twinkle of
a tallow candle. An entire class of susceptibilities, and
a gift connected with them, — of no great richness or
value, but the best I had, — ^was gone from me.

It is my belief, however, that, had I attempted a dif-
ferent order of composition, my faculties would not have
been found so pointless and inefficacious. I might, for
instance, have contented myself with writing out the
narratives of a veteran shipmaster, one of the Inspect-
ors, whom I should be most ungrateful not to mention,
since scarcely a day passed that he did not stir me to
laughter and admiration by his marvellous gifts as a
story-teller. Could I have preserved the picturesque
force of his style, and the humorous coloring which
nature taught him how to throw over his descriptions,
the result, I honestly believe, would have been something
new in literature. Or I might readily have found a
more serious task. It was a folly, with the materiality
of this daily life pressing so intrusively upon me, to
attempt to fling myself back into another age ; or to in-
sist on creating the semblance of a world out of airy
matter, when, at every moment, the impalpable beauty
of my soap-bubble was broken by the rude contact of
^-^me actual circumstance. The wiser effort would have

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE. 63

been to diffuse thought and imagination through the
opaque substance of to-day, and thus to make it a bright
transparency ; to spiritualize the burden that began to
weigh so heavily ; to seek, resolutely, the true and inde-
structible value that lay hidden in the petty and weari-
some incidents, and ordinary characters, with which I
was now conversant. The fault was mine. The page -
of life that was spread out before me seemed dull and
commonplace, only because I had not fathomed its
deeper import. A better book than T shall ever write
was there ; leaf after leaf presenting itself to me, just
as it was written out by the reality of the flitting hour,
and vanishing as fast as written, only because my brain
wanted the insight and my hand the cunning to tran-
scribe it. . At some future day, it may be, I shall remem-
ber a few scattered fragments and broken paragraphs,
and write them down, and find the letters turn to gold
upon the page.

These perceptions have come too late. At the in-
stant, I waa only conscious that what would have been
a pleasure once was now a hopeless toil. There was no
occasion to make much moan about this state of afiairs.
I had ceased to be a writer of tolerably poor tales and
essays, and bad become a tolerably good Surveyor of the
Customs. Thatwasall. But.nevertheless.itisanything
~)ut agreeable to be haunted by a suspicion that one's
ntellect is dwindling away ; or exhaling, without your
»nsciousness, like ether out of a phial ; so that, at every
;IaDce, you find a smaller and less volatile residu"-

54 THE SCARLET LETTER.

^ MW^M» ■■ ■ ■■» ^ — ^^M» III. ■■!■ fc ■ — ^■^^■l -M^.- I III I, \ ^ m , I ,^

Of the fact, there could be no doubt ; and, examining
myBeif and others, I was led to conclusions, in reference
to the effect of public office on the character, not very
favorable to the mode of life in question. In some other
form, perhaps, I may hereafter develop these effects,
feuffice it here to say, that a Custom-House officer, of
long continuance, can hardly be a very praiseworthy or
respectable personage, for many reasons ; one of them,
the tenure by which he holds his situation, and another,
the very nature of his business, which — ^though, I trust,
an honest one — is of such a sort that he does not share
in the united effort of mankind.

An effect — which I belive to be observable, more or
less, in every individual who has occupied the position
— is, that, while he leans on the mighty arm of the
Republic, his own proper strength departs from him.
He loses, in an extent proportioned to the weakness or
force of his original nature, the capability of self-support.
If he possess an unusual share of native energy, or the
enervating magic of place do not operate too long upon
him, his forfeited powers may be redeemable. The
ejected officer — fortunate in the unkindly shove that
sends him forth betimes, to struggle amid a struggling
world — may return to himself, and become all that he
has ever been. But this seldom happens. He usually
keeps his ground just long enough for his own ruin, and
is then thrust out, with sinews all unstrung, to totter
along the difficult footpath of life as he best may.
Conscious of his own infirmity, — that his tempered steel

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE.

and eloBticity are lost, — he forever aften
fully about him in queet of support exb
Hia pervading and continual hope — :
which, in the face of all discourageme
light of impossibilitiee, haunts him whi
I fancy, like the convulsive throes of
menta him for a brief space after death-
and in no long time, by Bome happy coi
cumstancea, he ehall be restored to oil
more than anything else, steals the pith :
out of whatever enterprise he may dream
Why should he toil and moil, and be at i
to pick himself up out of the mud, when
hence, the strong arm of his Uncle will rj
him ? Why should he work for bis livii
dig gold in California, when be is so si
happy, at monthly intervals, with a littl'
ing coin out of his Uncle's pocket ? It
to observe how slight a taste of office sul
poor fellow with this singular disease.
gold — meaning no disrespect to the woi
man — has, in this respect, a quality of er
that of the Devil's wages. Whoever U
look well to himself, or he may £nd thi
bard against him, involving, if not his
of its better attributes; its sturdy force,
constancy, its truth, its self-reliance, an(
the emphasis to manly character.

Here was a fine prospect in the dlstai

THE SCARLET LETTER.

r brought the lessoD home to himself, or
,t he could be so utterly undone, either by
in office, or ejectment. Yet my reflectiona
most comfortable. I began to grow mel-
restlesB ; continually prying into my mind,
rhich of its poor properties were gone, and
of detriment had already accrued to the
[ endeavored to calculate how much longer
in the Custom -Ho use, and yet go forth a
nfees the truth, it was my greatest appre-
it would never be a measure of policy to
[Utet an individual as myself, and it being
i nature of a public officer to resign, — it
f trouble, therefore, that I was likely to
id decrepit in the Surveyoi^hip, and be-
3uch another animal as the old Inspector,
, in the tedious lapse of official life that
e, finally be with me as it was with this
end, — to make the dinner-hour the nucleus
nd to spend the rest of it, as an old dog
eep in the sunshine or in the shade? A.
brward this, for a man who felt it to be
lition of happiness to live throughout tlie
of his faouities and aenaibilities I But, all
was giving myself very unnecessary alarm.
lad meditated better things for me than I
y imE^ne for myself
ble event of the third year of my Surveyor-
pt the tone of " P. P." — was the election

THE custom-house:. 57

of General Taylor to the Presidency. It is essential, in
order to a complete estimate of the advantf^es of official
liie, to view the incumbent at the in-coming of a hostile
adminietration. H^ position is then one of the most
singularly irksome, and, in every contingency, disagree-
able, that a wretched mortal can possibly occupy ; with
seldom an alternative of good, on either hand, although
what presenlfl itself to him as the worst event may very
probably be the best. But it is a strange experience,
to a man of pride and sensibility, to know that his in-
terests are within the control of individuals who neither
love nor understand him, and by whom, since one or
the other must needs happen, he would rather be in-
jured than obliged. Strange, too, for one who has kept
his calmness throughout the contest, to observe the
bloodthirstinese that is developed in the hour of tri-
umph, and to be conscious that he is himself among its
objects! There are few uglier traits of human nature
than this tendency — which I now witnessed in men no
worse than their neighbors — to grow cruel, merely he-
cause they possessed the power of inSictiug harm. If
the guillotine, as applied to office-holders, were a literal
fact, instead of one of the most apt of metaphors, it is
my sincere belief that the active members of the vic-
torious party were sufficiently excited to have chopped
off all our heads, and have thanked Heaven for the
opportunity ! It appears to me — who have been a calm
and curious observer, as well in victory as defeat — that
this fierce and bitter spirit of malice and revenge hs

THE 8CABLET LETTER.

nguished the many triumphs of my own party
lid that of the Whigs. The Democmte take

as a geiterul rule, because they need them,
se the practice of many years has made it
■ political warfare, which, unless a different
proclaimed, it were weakness and cowardice
r at But the long habit of victory has made
rous. They know how to spare, when they
n ; and when they strike, the axe may be
!ed, but its edge is seldom poisoned with ill-
a it their custom ignominiousJy to kick the
1 they Lave just struck off,
, unpleasant as was my predicament, at best,
li reason to congratulate myself that I was on
side, rather than the triumphant one. If,

I had been none of the warmest of parti-
Ein now, at this season of peril and adversity,
y acutely sensible with which party my pre-
ay ; nor was it without something like regret
, that, according to a reasonable calculation
I saw my own prospect of retaining office to
lan those of my Democratic brethren. But
i an inch into futurity, beyond his nose ? My
vas the first that fell !
lent when a man's head drops off is seldom

am inclined to think, precisely the most
)f his life. Nevertheless, like the greater
' misfortunes, even so serious a contingency
emedy and conaolation with it, if the sufferer

THE CnSTOM-HOUSE.

will but make the best, rather than the w<
accident which has befallen him. In my
case, the consolatory topics were close at
indeed, had suggested themselves to my m«
coDsiderable time before it was requisite to
In view of my previous weariness of office,
thoughts of resignation, my fortune somewhal
that of a person who should entertain an id
mitting suicide, and, although beyond his I
with the good hap to be murdered. In tl
House, as before in the Old Manse, I had e
years ; a term long enough to rest a weary b
enough to break off old intellectual habits,
room for new ones ; long enough, and too loi
lived in an unnatural state, doing what wa
no advantage nor delight to any human
withholding myself from toil that would, at
stilled an unquiet impulse in me. Then, m
regarded his unceremonious ejectment, the
veyor was not altogether ill-pleased to be
by the Whigs as an enemy ; since his Inacti
litical aifairs, — his tendency to roam, at w
broad and quiet field where all mankind
rather than confine himself to those nar
where brethren of the same honsehold mi
from one another,— had sometimes made i
able with his brother Democrats whether he w
Now, after he had won the crown of martyrdo
with no longer a head to wear it on,) the p

THE SCARLET LETTEE,

jpou as settled. Finally, little heroic as he
oed more decorous to be overthrown in the
r the party with which he had been content
lan to remain g forlorn survivor, when so
hieT men were falling; and, at last, after
For four years on the mercy of a hostile ad-
n, to be compelled then to define his posi-
and claim the yet more humiliating mercy
ly one.

ile the press had taken up my aflair, and kept
week or two, careering through the public
ny decapitated state, like Irving'a Headless
; ghastly and grim, and longing to be buried,
ally dead man ought. So much for my figu-
The real human being, all this time, with
ifely on his shouldeiB, had brought himself to
table conclusion that everything was for the

making an uivestment in ink, paper, and
bad opened his long-disused writing-desk, and
a literary man,

tas, that the lucubrations of my ancient pred-
r. Surveyor Pue, came into play. Rusty
mg idleness, some little space was requisite
intellectual machinery could be brought to

the tale, with an effect in any d^ee satis-
!ven yet, though my thoughts were ultimately
rbed in the task, it wears, to my eye, a stero
■B aspect ; too much ungladdened by genial
too little relieved by the tender and familiar

THE CnSTOM-HOnSE. 61

irhich BoHen almost every scene of nature and
nd, undoubtedly, should soften every picture

This uncaptivating effect is perhaps due to

of hardly accomplished revolution, and still
iirmoil, in which the story shaped itself It
»tion, however, of a lack of cheerfulness in
s mind ; for he was happier, while straying
le gloom of these sunless fantasies, than at
ince he had quitted the Old Manse. Some
fer articles, which contribute to make up the
ive likewise been written since my involun-
rawal from the toils and honors of public life,
nainder are gleaned from annuals and maga-
ich antique date that they have gone round
and come back to novelty again.* Keeping
taphor of the political guillotine, the whole
isidered as the PceiHUMOua Papers op a
TED SiiBVEYOB ; and the sketch which I am .
ing to a close, if too autobiographical for a
son to publish in his lifetime, will readily he
a gentleman who writes irom beyond the
lace be with all the world I My blessing on

! My foi^venesB to my enemies ! For I am
m of quiet I

of the Custom-House lies like a dream be-
hind me. The old Inspector, — who, by the by, I regret

* At the time of writing this article, the author intended to
publish, ftloDg with " The Scarlet Letter," aeveral shorter tales
ftud ilceU:h«s. These it baa beea thought odviBable to defer.

62 THE SCARLET LETTER.

to say, was overthrown and killed by a horse, some time
ago ; else he would certainly have lived forever, — he,
and all those other venerable personages who sat with
him at the receipt of custom, are but shadows in my
view; white-headed and wrinkled images, which my
fancy used to sport with, and has now flung aside for-
ever. The merchants, — Pingree, Phillips, Shepard, Up-
ton, Kimball, Bertram, Hunt, — these, and many other
names, which had such a classic familiarity for my ear
six months ago, — ^these men of traffic, who seemed to
occupy so important a position in the world, — how little
time has it required to disconnect me from them all, not
merely in act, but recollection I It is with an effort that
I recall the figures and appellations of these few. Soon,
likewise, my old native town will loom upon me through
the haze of memory, a mist brooding over and around
it ; as if it were no portion of the real earth, but an
overgrown village in cloud-land, with only imaginary
inhabitants to people its wooden houses, and walk its
homely lanes, and the unpicturesque prolixity of its
main street. Henceforth, it ceases to be a reality of my
life. I am a citizen of somewhere else. My good
townspeople will not much regret me ; for — though it
has been as dear an object as any, in my literary efforts,
to be of some importance in their eyes, and to win my-
self a pleasant memory in this abode and burial-place
of so many of my forefathers — ^there has never been,
for me, the genial atmosphere which a literary man
requires, in order to ripen the best harvest of his mind.

XSTOM-HOUSE. 63

jBt other faces ; and these familiar
aaid, will do just as well without

-O, transporting and triumphant
eat-grandchildren of the present
ink kindlj of the scribbler of by-
Qtiquary of days to come, among
1 the town's history, shall point
E Town Pump I

RLET LETTER.

. PRISON-DOOR.

larded men, in sad-colored gar-
eteeple-crowned hats, intermixed
rearing hooda, and others bare-
d in front of a wooden edifice, the
heavily timbered nith oak, and
>ikea.

new colony, whatever Utopia of
ppineaa they might originally pro-
recognized it among their earliest
a allot a portion of the virgin soil
)ther portion as the site of a prison.
ilia rule, it may safely be assumed
/Boston had built the first prison-
house somewhere in the vicinity of Comhill, almost as
seasonably as they marked out the first burial-ground,
on Isaac Johnson's lot, and round about his grave, vhich
subsequently became the nucleus of all the congregated
sepulchres in the old church-yard of King's Chapel

r. V

66 THE SCARLET LETTER.

Certain it is, that, some fifteen or twenty years after the
settlement of the town, the wooden jail was already
marked with weather-stains and other indications of
age, which gave a yet darker aspect to its beetle-browed
and gloomy front. The rust on the ponderous iron-work
of its oaken door looked more antique than anything
else in the New World. Like all that pertains to crime,
it seemed never to have known a youthftil era. Before
this ugly edifice, and between it and the wheel-track
of the street, was a grass-plot, much overgrown with
burdock, pig-weed, apple-peru, and such unsightly
vegetation, which evidently found something congenial
in the soil that had so early borne the black flower of
civilized society, a prison. But, on one side of the
portal, and rooted almost at the threshold, was a wild
rose-bush, covered, in this month of June, with its
delicate gems, which might be imagined to ofier their
fragrance and fragile beauty to the prisoner as he went
in, and to the condemned criminal as he came forth to
his doom, in token that the deep heart of Nature could
pity and be kind to him.

This rose-bush, by a strange chance, has been kept
alive in history ; but whether it had merely survived*
out of the stern old wilderness, so long after the fall of
the gigantic pines and oaks that originally overshadowed
it, — or whether, as there is fair authority for believing,
it had sprung up under the footsteps of the sainted Ann
Hutchinson, as she entered the prison-door, — ^we shall
not take upon us to determine. Finding it so directly

THE PRISON-DOOR. 67

on the threshold of our narrative, which is now about
to issue from that iDauapicious portal, we could hardly
do otherwise than pluck one of its flowers, and present '
it to the reader. It may serve, let as hope, to symbol-
ize some sweet moral blossom that may be found along
the track, or relieve the darkening close of a tale of j
human irailty and sorrow.

II.

THE MARKET-PLACE.

THE grass-plot before the jail, in Prison-lane, on a
certain summer morning, not less than two centuries
ago, was occupied by a pretty large number of the
inhabitants of Boston ; all with their eyes intently fas-
tened on the iron-clamped oaken door. Amongst any
other population, or at a later period in the history of
New England, the grim rigidity that petrified the
bearded physiognomies of these good people would
have augured some awful business in hand. It could
have betokened nothing short of the anticipated exe-
cution of some noted culprit, on whom the sentence of
a legal tribunal had but confirmed the verdict of pub-
lic sentiment. But, in that early severity of the Puri-
tan character, an inference of this kind could not so
indubitably be drawn. It might be that a sluggish
bond-servant, or an undutiful child, whom his parents
had given over to the civil authority, was to be cor-
rected at the whipping-post. It might be, that an An-
tinomian, a Quaker, or other heterodox religionist, was
to be scourged out of the town, or an idle and vagrant
Indian, whom the white man's fire-water had made riot-
ous about the streets, was to be driven with stripes into
68

f

THE MAEKBT-PLACH. 69

the shadow of the forest. It might be, too, that a witch,
like old Mistresa Hibbins, the bitter-tero[
of the magistrate, waa to die upon the j
either case, there was very much the same i
demeanor on the part of the spectators ; i
people amongst whom religion and law
identical, and in whose character both were :
ly interfused, that the mildest and the sevi
public discipline were alike made venerabl
Meagre, indeed, and cold, waa the symp
transgressor might look for, from such b;
the Bcaflbld. On the other hand, a pei
in our days, would infer a degree of mod
and ridicule, might then be invested wit
stem a -dignity as the punishment of dei
It was a circumstance to be noted, on
morning when our story begins its coui
women, of whom there were several in
appeared to take a peculiar interest in whi
Infliction might be expected to ensue. 1
not so much refinement, that any sense of
restrained the wearers of petticoat and fart]
stepping forth into the public ways, and w
not unsubstantial persons, if occa^on we
throng nearest to the scafibld at an executi
ly, as well as materially, there waa a coa
those wives and maidens of old Englisl
breeding, than in their fair descendants, sep
them by a series of six or seven gener

70 THE SCARLET LETTER.

if:

throughout that chain of ancestry, every successive
mother has transmitted to her child a fainter bloom, a
more delicate and briefer beauty, and a slighter physical
frame, if not a character of less force and solidity, than
her own. The women who were now standing about the
prison-door stood within less than half a century of the
period when the man-like Elizabeth had been the not
altogether unsuitable representative of the eex. They
were her countrywomen ; and the beef and ale of their
native land, with a moral diet not a whit more refined,
entered largely into their composition. The bright
morning sun, therefore, shone on broad shoulders and
"well-developed busts, and on round and ruddy cheeks,
that had ripened in the far-ofi* island, and had hardly
yet grown paler or thinner in the atmosphere of New
England. There was, moreover, a boldness and rotund-
ity of speech among these matrons, as most of them
seemed to be, that would startle us at the present day,
whether in respect to its purport or its volume of tone.
"Goodwives," said a hard-featured dame of fifty,
" I'll tell ye a piece of my mind. It would be greatly
for the public behoof, if we women, being of mature age
and church-members in good repute, should have the
handling of such malefactresses as this Hester Prynne,
What think ye, gossips? If the hussy stood up for
judgment before us five, that are now here in a knot
together, would she come off with such a sentence as
the worshipful magistrates have awarded ? Marry, I
*rownotr

THE UAEKET-PLACB.

"People say," said another, "thai
Master Dimmesdale, her godly paatoi
grievously to heart that such a Bcanc
come upoD his congregation."

"The magistratfifl are God-fearing
merci&l overrauch, — that ia a truth,'
autumnal matron. "At the very lei
have put the brand of a hot iron on 1
forehead. Madam Hester would have
I warrant me. But she, — the naughty
will she care what they put upon the hoc
Why, look you, she may cover it with t
like heathenish adorameut, aad so wa
brave ae ever I"

" Ah, but," interposed, more softly
holding a child by the hand, " let her
as she will, the pang of it will be alws]

" What do we talk of marks and bn
the bodice of her gown, or the flesh of
cried another female, the ugliest as well
less of these self-coiiatituted judges. " '
brought shame upon us all, and ought
not law for it ? Truly there is, both in tl
the statute-book. Then let the magist
made it of no effect, thank themselves if
and daughters go astray!"

" Mercy on us, goodwife," exclaimec
crowd, "is there no virtue in woman, ss
from a wholeBome fear of the gallowi

72 THE SCARLET LETTER.

hardest word yet I Hush, now, gossips ! for the lock is
turning in the prison door, and here comes Mistress
Prynne herself."

The door of the jail being flung open from within,
there appeared, in the first place, like a black shadow
emerging into sunshine, the grim and grisly presence
of the town-beadle, with a sword by his side, and his
staff of office in his hand. This personage prefigured
and represented in his aspect the whole dismal severity
of the Puritanic code of law, which it was his business
to administer in its final and closest application to the
offender. Stretching forth the official staff in his left
hand, he laid his right upon the shoulder of a young
woman, whom he thus drew forward; until, on the
threshold of the prison-door, she repelled him, by an
action marked with natural dignity and force of cha-
racter, and stepped into the open air, as if by her own
free will. She bore in her arms a child, a baby of
some three months old, who winked and turned aside
its little face from the too vivid light of day ; because
its existence, heretofore, had brought it acquainted
only with the gray twilight of a dungeon, or other
darksome apartment of the prison.

When the young woman — ^the mother of this child
— stood fully revealed before the crowd, it seemed to
be her first impulse to clasp the infant closely to her
bosom ; not so much by an impulse of motherly affec-
tion, as that she might thereby conceal a certain token,
which was wrought or fastened into her dress. In a

THE MARKKT-PLACE.

moment, however, wisely judging that one I
ehume would but poorly serve to hide anotl
the baby on her arm, and, with a burnini
yet a haughty smile, and a glance that wi
abashed, looked around at her townspeoplf
bora. On the breast of her gown, in fim
surrounded with an elaborate embroidery a
flouriahea of gold thread, appeared the Ii
was so artistically done, end with so much
gorgeous luxuriance of fency, that it had i
of a last and fitting decoration to the ap
she wore ; and which was of a splendor in
with the taste of the age, but greatly b
was allowed by the sumptuary regulat!
colony.

The young woman was tall, with a figur
elegance on a large scale. She had dark ai
hair, so glossy that it threw off the suns!
gleam, and a face which, besides being bei
regularity of feature and richness of conij
the impre^siveness belonging to a niarkei
deep black eyes. She waa lady-like, too, afl
ner of the feminine gentility of those days
ized by a certain state and dignity, rather
delicate, evanescent, and indescribable grs
now recognized as its indication. And nev
ter Prynne appeared more lady-like, in thf
Ecrpretation of the term, than as she issut
prison. Those who had before known he

74 THE SCARLET LETTER.

■ I - I — ■ — ■ »

expected to behold her dimmed and obscured by a dis-
astrous cloud, were astonished, and even startled, to
perceive how her beauty shone out, and made a halo
of the misfortune and ignominy in which she was en-
veloped. It may be true, that, to a sensitive observer,
there was something exquisitely painful in it. Her at-
tire, which, indeed, she had wrought for the occasion,
in prison, and had modelled much after her own fancy,
seemed to express the attitude of her spirit, the des-
perate recklessness of her mood, by its wild and pict-
uresque peculiarity. But the point which drew all
eyes, and, as it were, transfigured the wearer, — so that
both men and women, who had been familiarly ac-
quainted with Hester Prynne, were now impressed as
if they beheld her for the first time, — was that Scarlet
Letter, so fantastically embroiderexi and illuminated
upon her bosom. It had the effect of a spell, taking
her out of the ordinary relations with humanity, and
enclosing her in a sphere by herself.

" She hath good skill at her needle, that's certain,"
remarked one of her female spectators ; " but did ever
a woman, before this brazen hussy, contrive such a way
of showing it ! Why, gossips, what is it but to laugh in
the faces of our godly magistrates, and make a pride
out of what they, worthy gentlemen, meant for a pun-
ishment ?"

" It were well," muttered the most iron-visaged of the
old dames, " if we stripped Madam Hester's rich gown
off her dainty shoulders ; and as for the red letter, which

THE MAKKBT-PLAC

she hath stitched bo curiously, I'll be
own rheumatic flaunel, to make a fiti

"O, peace, neighbors, peace 1" whiaj
est compaDton ; " do not let her hear ]
in that embroidered letter, but she
heart."

The grim beadle now made a gesti

" Make way, good people, make w
name!" cried he. "Open a pasaag<
ye, MistresB Prynne shall be set wh
and child may have a fair sight of b
from this time till an hour past meri
on the righteous Colony of the Massac
iquity is dragged out into the sunshii
Madam Hester, and show your sea
market-place !"

A lane was forthwith opened thro
spectators. Preceded by the beadle,
an irregular procession of stem-brov
kiodly-viaaged women, Hester Prynm
the place appointed for her punishmi
eager and curious school-boys, under
the matter in hand, except that it j
holiday, ran before her progress, tu:
continually to stare into her face, at
baby in her arms, and at the ignomin
breast. It was no great distance, in
the prison-door to the market-place.
prisoner's experience, however, It mij

7fi THE SCAHLET LETTEE.

journey of some length; for, haughty aa her demeanor
was, she perchance underwent an ^ony from every
footstep of those that thronged to Bee her, as if her
been fluug Into the Btreet for them all to
trample upon. In our nature, however,
provision, alike marvellous and merciful,
ifferer should never know the intensity of
durea by its present torture, but chiefly by
lat rankles after it. ' With almost a serene
,, therefore, Hester Prynne passed through
I ofher ordeal, and came to a sort of scaf-
western extremity of the market-place. It
Ly beneath the eaves of Boston's earliest
d appeared to be a fixture there.
,his scaflold constituted a portion of a penal
hich now, for two or three generations past,
erely historical and traditionary among us,
d, in the old time, to be aa effectual an agent,
notion of good citizenship, as ever was the
imong the terrorists-of France. It was, in
latformof the pillory; and above it rose the
of that instrument of discipline, so fashion-
ifine the human head in its tight grasp, and
it up to the public gaze. The very ideal
y was embodied and made manifest in this
: of wood and iron. There can be no out-
nks, against our common nature, — whatever
nqucDciea of the individual, — no outrage
nt than to forbid the culprit to hide his face

THE MABKET-PLACB, 77

as it was the essence of this punishment to
sster Prynne's instance, however, as not un-

in other cases, her sentence bore, that she
id a certain time upon the platform, but with-
oing that gripe about the neck and confine-
e head, the proneness to which was the most
iaractfiristac of this ugly engine. Knowing
irt, she ascended a flight of wooden steps, and
lisplayed to the surrounding multitude, at
leight of a man's shoulders above the street.
re been a Papist among the crowd of Puri-
ight have seen in this beautiful woman, so
I in her attire and mien, and with the infant
m, an object to remind him of the image of
.ternity, which so many illustrious painters
with one another to represent; something
Id remind him, indeed, but only by contrast,
red image of sinless motherhood, whose in-
redeem the world. Here, there was the taint
lin in tho most sacred quality of human life,
ch efiect, that the world was only the darker
aan'a beauty, and the more lost for the infant
d borne.

le was not without a mixture of awe, such
fays invest the spectacle of guilt and shame
■-creature, before society shall have grown
3Ugh to smile, instead of shuddering, at it.
ses of Hester Prynne's disgrace had not yet
md their simplicity. They were stern enough

78 THE SCARLET LETTER.

to look upon her death, had that been the sentence, with-
out a murmur at its severity, but had none of the heart-
lessness of another social state, which would find only a
theme for jest in an exhibition like the present. Even
had there been a disposition to turn the matter into
ridicule, it must have been repressed and overpowered
by the solemn presence of men no less dignified than
the Governor, and several of his counsellors, a judge,
a general, and the ministers of the town ; all of whom
sat or stood in a balcony of the meeting-house, looking
down upon the platform. When such personages could
constitute a part of the spectacle, without risking the
majesty or reverence of rank and office, it was safely to
be inferred that the infliction of a legal sentence would
have an earnest and effectual meaning. Accordingly,
the crowd was sombre and grave. The unhappy cul-
prit sustained herself as best a woman might, under the
heavy weight of a thousand unrelenting eyes, all fas-
tened upon her, and concentrated at her bosom. It was
almost intolerable to be borne. Of an impulsive and
passionate nature, she had fortified herself to encounter
the stings and venomous stabs of public contumely,
wreaking itself in every variety of insult ; but there
was a quality so much more terrible in the solemn mood
of the popular mind, that she longed rather to behold
all those rigid countenances contorted with scornful
merriment, and herself the object. Had a roar of
laughter burst from the multitude, — each man, each
woman, each little shrill-voiced child, contributing their

THE UABEFT-PLACB. 79

individual parte, — Heater Prynne might have repaid

them all with a bitter and disdainful emile.

the leaden infliction which it was her doon

she felt, at moments, as If she muet needs

with the full power of her lungs, and cast '.

the scafTold down upon the ground, or els*

Yet there were intfirvaJs when the whc
which she was the most conspicuous object
vanish from her eyes, or, at least, glimmere
ly before them, like a mass of imperfectly
spectral images. Her mind, and especially ]
was pretematurally active, and kept bring!
scenes than this roughly-hewn street of a lit
the edge of the Western wilderness ; othe
were lowering upon her from beneath the bi
steeple-crowned hats. Reminiscences, the i
and immaterial, passages of infancy and
sports, childish quarrels, and the little doi
ot her maiden years, came swarming back i
termingled with recollections of whatever
in her subsequent life ; one picture precise!
another ; as if all were of similar importanci
a play. Possibly, it was an instinctive di
spirit, to relieve itself, by the exhibition of
tasmagoric forms, from the cruel weight a
of the reality.

Be that as it might, the scaffold of the p
point of view that revealed to Hester Pryn

THE SCA.1LLEC LBTTEB.

g which she had been treading, eince her hapfty
Standing on that miserable eminence, she saw
native village, in Old England, and her pater-
; a decayed house of gray atone, with a pov-
Len aspect, but retaining a haIf-obIiterat«d
irina over the portal, in token of antique geu-
e saw her Other's face, with its bald brow, and
vhite beard, that flowed over the old-fashioned
Bn ruff; her mother's, too, with the look of
ud auxiouB love which it always wore in her
nee, and which, even since her death, had so
the impediment of a gentle remonstrance in
Lter'a pathway. She saw her own face, glow-
irlish beauty, and illuminating all the interior
ky mirror in which she had been wont to gaze
ire she beheld another countenance, of a man
cen in years, a pale, thin, scholar-like visage,
dim and bleared by the lamp-light that had
im to pore over many ponderous books. Yet
e bleared optics had a strange, penetrating
en it was their owner's purpose to read the
i\. This figure of the study and the cloister,
Prynne'a womanly fancy failed not to recall,
;ly deformed, with the left shoulder a trifle
in the right. Next rose before her, in mem-
re-gallery, the intricate and narrow thorough-
all gray bouses, the huge cathedrals, and the
Gees, ancient in date and quaint in architect-
iontmental city; where a new life had awaited

THE MARKET-PLACE. 81

her, still in connection with the miaahapeQ scholar ; a
new life, but feeding itself on time-worn materials, like
a tuft of green moss on a crumbling wall. Lastly, in
lieu of these shifting scenes, came back the rude markets
place of the Puritan settlement, with all the townspeople
aaserabled and levelling their stem regards at Hester
Prynne, — yes, at herself, — who stood on the scaSbld of
the pillory, an in&nt on her arm, and the letter A, in
scarlet, fantastically embroidered vitb gold thread, upon
her boBom !

Could it be true? She clutched the child bo fiercely
to her breast that it sent forth a cry ; she turned her
eyes downward at the scarlet letter, and even touched
it with her finger, to assure herseif that the infant and
the shame were real. Yee ! — theee were ber realities, —
all else had vanished I

E RECOaNITION.

se consciousneaa of being the object
niversal obBervatioo, the wearer of
IS at length relieved, by discerning,
the crowd, a figure which irresist-
of ber thoughts. An Indian, in hie
nding there ; but the red men were
visitors of the English eettlements,
iuld have attracted any notice from
euch a time; much less would he
other objects and ideas from ber
ian's side, and evidently sustaining
th him, stood a white man, clad in
if civilized and savage costume.
I stature, with a furrowed visage,
d hardly be termed aged. There
ntelligence in his features, as of a
cultivated his mental part that it
luld the physical to itself, and be-
nmistakablc tokens. Although, by
i arrangement of his heterogeneous
vored to conceal or abate the pecu-
ciently evident to Hester Prynne,

THE EECOGNinON. 83

that one of this man's shoulders rose higher than the

other. Again, at the first instant of pen

thin visage, and the slight deformity of thi

pressed her infant to her bosom, with so i

force that the poor babe uttered another

But the mother did not seem to hear it.

At his arrival in the market-place, aii(
before she saw him, the stranger had bent
Hester Prynne. It was carelessly, at first,
chiefiy accustomed to look inward, and to ^
ual matters are of little value and import,
bear relation to something within his n:
soon, however, his look became keen and
A writhing horror twisted itself across I
like a snake gliding swiftly over them, t
one little pause, with all its wreathed inter
open sight. His face darkened with son
emotion, which, nevertheless, he so instantai
trolled by an efibrt of his will, that, save
moment, its expression might have passec
ness. After a brief space, the convulsion j
imperceptible, and finally subsided into th
his nature. When be found the eyes of He
fastened on his own, and saw that she app(
ognize him, he slowly and calmly raised his 1
a gesture with it in the air, and laid it on ]

Then, touching the shoulder of a townsma
next to him, he addressed him, in a formal
eous manner.

r#ri.

i^v 84 THE SCARLET LETTER.

a%

5>«"^

.A

?5/'

fir- •.

" I pray you, good Sir," said he, " who is this woman ?
—and wherefore is she here set up to public shame?"

** You must needs be a stranger in this region, friend,"
answered the townsman, looking curiously at the ques-
tioner and his savage companion, "else you would
^ surely have heard of Mistress Hester Prynne, and her
evil doings. She hath raised a great scandal, I promise
you, in godly Master Dimmesdale's church."
I^i " You say truly," replied the other. " I am a stranger,

and have been a wanderer, sorely against my will. I
have met with grievous mishaps by sea and land, and
have been long held in bonds among the heathen-folk,
to the southward ; and am now brought hither by this
Indian, to be redeemed out of my captivity. Will it
please you, therefore, to tell me of Hester Prynne's, —
have I her name rightly ? — of this woman's offences,
and what has brought her to yonder scaflTold?"

" Truly, friend ; and methinks it must gladden your
heart, after your troubles and sojourn in the wilder-
ness," said the townsman, " to find yourself, at length,
in a land where iniquity is searched out, and punished
in the sight of rulers and people ; as here in our godly
New England. Yonder woman, Sir, you must know,
was the wife of a certain learned man, English by birth,
but who had long dwelt in Amsterdam, whence, some
good time agone, he was minded to cross over and cast
in his lot with us of the Massachusetts. To this purpose,
he sent his wife before him, remaining himself to look
fter some necessary affairs. Marry, good Sir, in some

r

THE RECOGNITION. 85

two years, or less, that the woman has been a dweller
here in Boston, no tidings have come of this learned
gentleman. Master Prynne ; and his young wife, look
you, being left to her own misguidance '*

"Ah I — aha I — I conceive you," said the stranger,
with a bitter smile. " So learned a man as you speak
of should have learned this too in his books. And who,
by your favor. Sir, may be the father of yonder babe-
it is some three or four months old, I should judge —
which Mistress Prynne is holding in her arms T*

" Of a truth, friend, that matter remaineth a riddle ;
and the Daniel who shall expound it is yet a-wanting,"
answered the townsman. " Madam Hester absolutely
reAiseth to speak, and the magistrates have laid their
heads together in vain. Peradventure the guilty one
stands looking on at this sad spectacle, unknown of man,
and forgetting that God sees him."

"The learned man," observed the stranger, with
another smile, " should come himself, to look into the
mystery."

" It behooves him well, if he be still in life," re-
sponded the townsman. " Now, good Sir, our Massa-
chusetts magistracy, bethinking themselves that this
woman is youthful and fair, and doubtless was strongly^
tempted to her fall ; — ^and that, moreover, as is most'
likely, her husband may be at the bottom of the sea ;
— they have not been bold to put in force the extrem-
ity of our righteous law against her. The penalty
thereof is death. But in their great mercy and ter^^

THE fiCABLKT LBTTEB.

xt, they have doomed Miatress Prynne to
a space of three hours on the platform of
aDd then and thereafter, for the remainder
ral life, to wear a mark of shame upon her

BentcDce I" remarked the stranger, gravely
head. " Thus she will be a living eermon

until the ignominious letter be engraved
mb-3tone. It irks me, nevertheless, that the
ber iniquity should not, at least, stand on

by her aide. But he will be known I — he
wn ! — he will be known I"
1 courteously to the communicative towns-
hiapering a few words to his Indian attend-
)th made their way through the crowd,
ia pSBsed, Hester Prynne had been standing
estal, still with a fixed gaze towards the
) fixed a gaze, that, at momenta of intense
all other objecta in the visible world seemed
eaving only him and her. Such an inter-
ps, would have been more terrible than even
1 as she now did, with the hot, midday sun
ra upon her face, and lighting up its shame ;
arlet token of infamy on her breast; with

infant in her arms : with a whole people,

as to a festival, staring at the features that
I been seen only in the quiet gleam of the
he happy shadow of a home, or beneath a
:il, at church. DreadiUl as it was, she was

5^-

■ «

A

THE RECOGNITION. 87

conscious of a shelter in the presence of these thousand
witnesses. It was better to stand thus, with so many
betwixt him and her, than to greet him, face to face,
they two alone. She fled for refuge, as it were, to the
public exposure, and dreaded the moment when its pro-
tection should be withdrawn from her. Involved in
these thoughts, she scarcely heard a voice behind her,
until it had repeated her name more than once, in a
loud and solemn tone, audible to the whole multitude.

" Hearken unto me, Hester Prynne !" said the voice.

It has already been noticed, that directly over the
platform on which Hester Prynne stood was a kind of
balcony, or open gallery, appended to the meeting-house.
It was the place whence proclamations were wont to be
made, amidst an assemblage of the magistracy, with all
the ceremonial that attended such public observances
in thoi^ days. Here, to witness the scene which we are
describing, sat Governor Bellingham himself, with four
sergeants about his chair, bearing halberds, as a guard
of honor. He wore a dark feather in his hat, a border
of embroidery on his cloak, and a black velvet tunic
beneath ; a gentleman advanced in years, with a hard
experience written in his wrinkles. He was not ill
fitted to be the head and representative of a community,
which owed its origin and progress, and its present state
of development, not to the impulses of youth, but to the
stem and tempered energies of manhood, and the sombre
sagacity of age ; accomplishing so much, precisely be-
cause it imagined and hoped so little. The other eir '

THE SCARLET LETTER.

■B, by whom the chief ruler was Bur-
distinguished by a dignity of mien, be-
eriod when the forms of authority were
the sacrednesa of Divine inatitutions.
jbtlese, good men, just, and aage. But,
le human ikmily, it would not have been
the same number of wise and virtuous
hould be less capable of sitting in judg-
ing woman's heart, and disentangling its
and evil, than the aages of rigid aspect
Hester Prynne now turned her face.
QBciouB, indeed, that whatever sympathy
ect hiy in the lai^r and warmer heart:
le ; for, as she lifted her eyea towards the
ahappy woman grew pale and trembled,
lich had called her attention was that of
nd famous John Wilson, the eldest cler-
on, a great scholar, like most of his con-
the profeeeion, and withal a man of kind
rit. This last attribute, however, had
illy developed than bis intellectual gifts,
ith, rather a matter of shame than self-
with him. There he stood, with a border
lis beneath his skull-cap ; while his gray
ed to the shaded light of his study, were
hose of Hester's infant, in the unadult«r-
He looked like the darkly engraved
I we see prefixed to old volumes of ser*
J no more right than one of those poi^

THE RECOGNITION.

traite would have, to step forth, as he now ''
meddle with a question of human guilt, pas
anguish. W

" Hester Frynne," aaid the clergyman," I ha\
with my young brother here, under whose prea
the word you have been privileged to sit," — '
Wilson laid his haud on the ehoulder of a pa
man beside him, — "I have sought, T say, to
this godly youth, that he should deal with yoL
the face of Heaven, and before these wise anc
rulers, and in bearing of all the people, as tou<
vileness and blackness of your sin. Knowing ;
nral temper better than I, he could the betl
what arguments to use, whether of tenderness <
such as might prevail over your hardnese and ol
insomuch that you should do longer hide the
him who tempted you to this grievous fall, Bi
poses to me, (with a young man's over-softne
wise beyond his years,) that it were wronging
nature of woman to force her to lay open he
secrets in such broad daylight, and in presei
great a multitude. Truly, as I sought to conyi
the shame lay in the commission of the sin, an
the showing of it forth. What say you to it, oni
brother Dimmesdale ? Must it be thou, or I, tl
deal with this poor sinner's soul ?"

There was a murmur among the dignified an
end occupants of the balcony ; and Governor
ham gave expression to its purport, speakin

■HE eCAELET LETTER.

aice, although tempered with respect
ithfiil clergyman whom he addressed.
r Dimmesdale," said he, " the responsi-
Qoau's soul lies greatly with you. It he-
'efore, to exhort her to repentance, and
a proof and consequence thereof."
3 of this appeal drew the eyes of the
on the Beverend Mr. Dimmesdale ; a
n, who had come from ooe of the great
ities, bringing all the learning of the
1 forest-land. Hia eloquence and re-
ad already ^ven the earnest of high
profession. He was a person of very
with a white, lofty, and impending
awn, melancholy eyes, and a mouth
len he forcihly compressed it, was apt
:, expressing both nervous sensibility
er of self-restraint Notwithstanding
;ifts and scholar-like attainments, there
this young minister, — an apprehensive,
F-frightened look, — as of a being who
i astray and at a loss in the pathway of
i, and could only be at ease in some
own. Therefore, so far as his duties
trod in the shadowy by-paths, and thus
pie and child-like; coming forth, when
h a freshness, and fragrance, and dewy
;, which, as many people said, aSected
2ech of an angel.

V

It

THE RECOGNITION. - 91

r ' ■ ■ "

Such was the young man whom the Keverend Mr.
Wilson and the Governor had introduced so openly to
the public notice, bidding Jiim speak, in the hearing of
uU men, to that mystery of a woman's soul, so sacred
even in its pollution. The trying nature of his posi-
xion drove the blood from his cheek, and made his lips
tremulous.

" Speak to the woman, my brother," said Mr. Wil-
son. " It is of moment to her soul, and therefore, as
the worshipful Grovemor says, momentous to thine
own, in whose charge hers is. Exhort her to confess
the truth!"

The Keverend Mr. Dimmesdale bent his head, in
silent prayer^ as it seemed, and then came forward.

" Hester Prynne," said he, leaning over the balcony,
and looking down steadfastly into her eyes, " thou hear-
est what this good man says, and seest the accountability
under which I labor. If thou feelest it to be for thy souPs
peace, and that thy earthly punishment will thereby be
made more effectual to salvation, I charge thee to speak
out the name of thy fellow-sinner and fellow-sufferer !
Be not silent from any mistaken pity and tenderness
for him ; for, believe me, Hester, though he were to
step down from a high place, and stand there beside
thee, on thy pedestal of shame, yet better were it so,
than to hide a guilty heart through life. What can
thy silence do for him, except it tempt him — yea, com-
pel him, as it were — to add hypocrisy to sin ? Heaven
hath granted thee an open ignominy, that thereby thou

THE BCJlKLET LETTEB.

ork out an open triumph over the evil within
the sorrow without. Take heed how thou de-
im — who, perchance, hath not the courage to
for himself— the bitter, but wholesome, cup
ow presented to thy lips!"
>ung pastor's voice was tremulously sweet,
p. and broken- The feeling that it so evi-
anifested, rather than the direct purport of
I, caused it to vibrate within all hearts, and
the listeners into one accord of sympathy.
: poor baby, at Hester's bosom, was affected
me influence; for it directed its hitherto va-
: towards Mr. Dimmesdale, and held up its
9, with a half pleased, half plaintive murmur.
(ill seemed the minister's appeal, that the peo-
. not believe but that Hester Prynne would
the guilty name ; or else that the guilty one
I whatever high or lowly place he stood, would
forth by an inward and inevitable necessity,
lelled to ascend the scaffold,
shook her head.

in, transgress not beyond thelimits of Heaven's
iried the Reverend Mr. Wilson, more harshly
re. " That little babe hath been gifted with
I second and confirm the counsel which thou
J. Speak out the name! That, and thy re-
may avail to take the scarlet letter off thy

:I" replied Hester Prynne, looking, not at

THE RECOGNITION. 93

Mr. Wilson, but into the deep and troubled eyes of
the younger clergyman. "It is too deeply branded.
Ye cannot take it off. And would that I might en-
dure his agony, as well as mine!"

"Speak, woman!" said another voice, coldly and
sternly, proceeding from the crowd about the scaffold.
" Speak ; and give your child a father !"

" I will not speak !" answered Hester, turning pale as
death, but responding to this voice, which she too surely
recognized. " And my child must seek a heavenly Fa-
ther ; she shall never know an earthly one !"

" She will not speak I" murmured Mr. Dimmesdale,
who, leaning over the balcony, with his hand upon
his heart, had awaited the result of his appeal. He
now drew back, with a long respiration. " Wondrous
strength and generosity of a woman's heart I She will
not speak !"

Discerning the impracticable state of the poor cul-
prit's mind, the elder clergyman, who had carefully
prepared himself for the occasion, addressed to the
multitude a discourse on sin, in all its branches, but
with continual reference to the ignominious letter. So
forcibly did he dwell upon the symbol, for the hour or
more during which his periods were rolling over the
people's heads, that it assumed new terrors in their
imagination, and seemed to derive its scarlet hue from
the flames of the infernal pit. Hester Prynne, mean-
while, kept her place upon the pedestal of shame, with
glazed eyes, and an air of weary indifference. She ha^^

THE SCAELET LETTER.

morning, all that nature could endure;
temperament was not of the order that
too intense suffering by a swoon, her spirit
shelter itself beneath a stony crust of in-
Fhile the faculties of animal life remained
;hia state, the voice of the preacher thun-
selessly, but unavailingly, upon her eats,
during the latter portion of her ordeal,
air with its wailings and screams; she
ih it, mechanically, but seemed scarcely to
ifith its trouble. With the same hard de-
was led back to prison, and vanished from
aze within its iron-clamped portal. It was
y those who peered after her, that the scar-
ew a lurid gleam along the dark passage-
II tenor.

*

»

IV.

THE INTERVIEW.

AFTER her return to the prison, Hester Prynne was
-^ found to be in a state of nervous excitement that
demanded constant watchfulness, lest she should per-
petrate violence on herself, or do some half-frenzied
mischief to the poor babe. As night approached, it
proving impossible to quell her insubordination by re-
buke or threats of punishment, Master Brackett, the
jailer, thought fit to introduce a physician. He de-
scribed him as a man of skill in all Christian modes of
physical science, and likewise familiar with whatever
the savage people could teach, in respect to medicinal
herbs and roots that grew in the forest. To say the
truth, there waa much need of professional assistance,
not merely for Hester herself, but still more urgently
for the child; who, drawing its sustenance from the
maternal bosom, seemed to have drank in with it all the
turmoil, the anguish and despair, which pervaded the
mother's system. It now writhed in convulsions of pain,
and was a forcible type, in its little frame, of the moral
agony which Hester Prynne had borne throughout the
day.

Closely following the jailer into the dfemal ^par
7 95

THE SCARLET LETTER.

peared that individual, of singular aspect,
■esence in the crowd had been of such deep
ya the wearer of the scarlet letter. He was
the prifioQ, not as suspected of any oSence,
I most conveuient and suitable mode of dis-
him, until the magistrates should have con-
.h the Indian sagamores respecting his ransom.
was announced as Roger Chillingworth. The
ter ushering him into the room, remained a
marveUing at the comparative quiet that fol-
entrance ; for Heater Prynne had immediately
s still as death, although the child continued

ee, friend, leave me alone with my patient,"
>ractitioner. " Trust me, good jailer, you shall
ive peace in your house ; and, I promise you,
Prynne shall hereafter be more amenable to
lority than you may have found her hereto-

if your worship can accomplish that," an-
laater Brackett, " I shall own you for a man
ndeed I Verily, the woman hath been like a
one ; and there lacks little, that I should take
o drive Satan out of her with Btripea."
■anger had entered the room with the charac-
lietude of the profession to which he announced
s belonging. Nor did his demeanor change,

withdrawal of the prison-keeper left him&ce
ith the woman, whose absorbed notice of himi

THE INTEBVIEW. 97

in the crowd, had intimated so close a relation Vif>t.nrM>n
himself and her. Hia first care waa given to
whoee cries, indeed, as she lay writhing on tl
bed, made it of peremptory necessity to pc
other business to the task of soothing her.
ined the infant carefully, and then proceeded
a leathern case, which he took from beneatl
It appeared to contain medical preparatio
which he mingled vith a cup of water.

"My old studies in alchemy," observed ht
sojourn, for above a year past, among a p
versed in the kindly properties of simples, hf
better physician of me than many that clair
jcal degree. Here, woman ! The child is j
is none of mine, — neither will she recognize n
aspect as a father's. Administer this draught
with thine own hand."

Hester repelled the offered medicine, at the
gazing with strongly parked apprehension in

"Wouldst thou avenge thyself on th(
babef whispered she.

" Foolish woman !" responded the physi
coldly, half soothingly. " What should ail n
this misbegotten and miserable babe ? The i
potent for good ; and were it my child, — yea,
BB well as thine ! — I could do no better for i

As she still hesitated, being, in fact, in no
state of mind, he took the Infhnt in his arnu
self administered the draught It soon pro'

rr LETTER.

I's pledge. The moane of
a convulsive tosaiDgs grad*
moments, as is the custom
f from pain, it sank into a
The physician, as he had
!xt bestowed his attention
ind intent scrutiny, he felt
es, — a gaze that made her
jcauae so familiar, and yet
nally, satisfied with his in-
igle another draught.
Nepenthe," remarked he ;
new secrets in the vilder-
, — a recipe that an Indian
ae lessons of my own, that
Drink it I It may be less
ience. That I cannot give
swell and heaving of thy
le waves of a tempestuous

ester, who received it with
face ; not precisely a look
d questioning, as to what
looked also at her slum-

' said she, — " have wished
tyed for it, were it fit that
ything. Yet, if death be

*

Ai^

THE INTERVIEW. 99

in this cup, I bid thee think again, ere thou beholdest
me quaff it. See I It is even now at my lips." ,

" Drink, then," replied he, still with ibhe same cold \
composure. "Dost thou know me so little, Hester I
Prynne? Are my purposes wont to be so shallow? !
Even if I imagine a scheme of vengeance, what could I |
do better for my object than to let thee live, — ^than to I
give thee medicines against all harm and peril of life, \ £
— so that this burning shame may still blaze upon thy ^
bosom?" As he spoke, he laid his long forefinger on
the scarlet letter, which forthwith seemed to scorch into
Hester's breast, as if it had been red-hot. He noticed
her involuntary gesture, and smiled. " Live, therefore,
and bear about thy doom with thee, in the eyes of men
and women, — in the eyes of him whom thou didst call
thy husband, — ^in the eyes of yonder child ! And, that
thou mayest live, take off this draught."

Without further expostulation or delay, Hester
Prynne drained the cup, and, at the motion of the
man of skill, seated herself on the bed where the child
was sleeping ; while he drew the only chair which the
room afforded, and took his own seat beside her. She
could not but tremble at these preparations ; for she
felt that — ^having now done all that humanity, or prin-
ciple, or, if so it were, a refined cruelty, impelled him
to do, for the relief of physical suffering — ^he was next
to treat with her as -the man whom she had most deeply
and irreparably injured.

" Hester," said he, " I ask not wherefore, nor how

B SCAKLET LETTER.

ito the pit, or say, rather, thou haat
edeBtal of infamy, on which I found

is not far to seek. It was my folly,

I, — a man of thought, — the book-

aries, — a man already in decay, hav-

years to feed the hungry dream of

had I to do with youth and beauty
Vlisahapen from my birth-hour, how
'self with the idea that intellectual
ihysical deformity in a young girl's -
II me wise. If sages were ever wise
if, I might have foreseen all this. I
L that, as I came out of the vast and
entered this settlement of Christian
t object to meet my eyes would be
ynne, standing up a statue of igno-
eople. Kay, from the moment when

old churoh-steps together, a married

beheld the bale-fire of that scarlet
le end of our path !"
" said Hester, — for, depressed as she
t endure this last quiet stab at the
e, — " thou knowest that I was frank
no love, nar feigned any."

he. " It was my folly ! I have sai J
at epoch of my life, I had lived in

had been so cheerless! My heart
large enough for many guests, but
id without a household fire. I longed

THE INTERVIEW.

to kindle one ! It seemed not so wild a dream,-
I was, and sombre as I was, and misshapen a
that the simple bliss, which is scattered fer
for all mantind to gather up, might yet be n
so, Hester, I drew thee into my heart, into its
chamber, and sought to warm thee by the war
thy presence made there !"

" I have greatly wronged thee," murmnrei

"We have wronged each other," ans'
"Mine was the first wrong, when I betrayed
ding youth into a false and unnatural relatio
decay. Therefore, as a man who has not th
philosophized in vain, I seek no vengeance, p
against thee. Between thee and me the s(
fairly balanced. But, Hester, the man live
wronged us both ! Who is he ?"

" Ask me not !" replied Hester Prynne, loo
ly into his face. " That thou shalt never kn

" Never, sayeat thou ?" rejoined he, with i
dark and self-relying intelligence. " Never 1
Believe me, Hester, there are few things, — w
the outward world, or, to a certain depth, in
ible sphere of thought, — few things hidden
man who devotes himself earnestly and unres
the solution of a mystery. Thou mayest co\
secret from the prying multitude. Thou nti
ceal it, too, from the ministers and magistral*
thou didst this day, when they sought to w
name out of thy heart, and give thee a parti

iELET LBTTEB.

me, I come to the inquest with
possess. I shall seek this maD,
in books ; as I have sought gold
a sympathy that will make me
hall see him tremble. I shall
.ddcnly and unawares. Sooner

be mine !"

ded scholar glowed so intensely

Prynne clasped her haads over

be should read the secret there

il his name ? Not the less he is
1 a look of confidence, as if des-
im. " He bears no letter of in-
irment, as thou dost; but I shall
et fear not for him I Think not
vith Heaven's own method of
vn loss, betray him to the gripe
it do thou imagine that I shall
lis life ; no, nor against his fame,
in of fiiir repute. Let hira live I
in outward honor, if he may I
mine!"

lercy," said Hester, bewildered
hy words interpret thee as a

t wast my wife, I would enjoin
the scholar. " Thou hast kept
mour. Keep, likewise, mine!

w^

THE ISTKRVIEW,

. There are none in this land that know me.
not, to any human soul, that thou didst evi
husbaDd ! Here, oo thiB vrild o^kirt of tl
ehall pitch my tent; for, elsewhere a wanden
lated from human interests, I find here a wom
a child, amongst whom and myself there exist
ligaments. No matter whether of love or
matter whether of right or wrong 1 Thou ;
Hester Pryniie, belong to me. My home is i
art, and where he is. But betray me notl"

"Wherefore doet tliou desire it?" in<]uin
shrinking, she hanlly knew why, from this 8«
" Why not announce thyself openly, and cas
once?"

" It may be," he replied, " because I will n
ter the dishonor that besmirches the husband
less woman. It may be for other reasons. 3
is my purpose to live and die unknown. Let,
thy husband be to the world as one already
of whom no tidings shall ever come. Recogn:
by word, by sign, by look ! Breathe not i
above all, to the man thou wottest of. Sho
fail me in this, beware ! His fame, his positic
will be in my hands. Beware!"

" I will keep thy secret, as I have his," sai

" Swear it !" rejoined he.

And she took the oath.

"And now. Mistress Prynne," said old E
lingworth, as he was hereafter to be named.

THE SCABI^T LKITEB.

le ; alone with thy in iant, and the scarlet letter I
it, Hester? Doth thy sentence bind thee to
token in thy sleep ? Art thou not a&aid of
%e and hideous dreams?"
■ dost thou smile so at me?" inquired Hester,
at the expression of hia eyes. " Art thou like
i Man that haunts the forest round about us ?
u enticed me into a bond that will prove the
ny soul ?"

thy soul," he answered, with another smile.
; thine I"

sr^

V.

HESTER AT HER NEEDLE.

HESTER PRYNNE'S term of confinement waa
now at an end. Her prison-door was thrown
open, and she came forth into the sunshine, which,
falling on all alike, seemed, to her sick and morbid
heart, as if meant for no other purpose than to re-
veal the scarlet letter on her breast. Perhaps there
was a more real torture in her first unattended foot-
steps from the threshold of the prison, than even in
the procession and spectacle that have been described,
where she was made the common infamy, at which all
mankind was summoned to point its finger. Then, she
was supported by an unnatural tension of the nerves,
and by all the combative energy of her character,
which enabled her to convert the scene into a kind of
lurid triumph. It was, moreover, a separate and insu-
lated event, to occur but once in her lifetime, and to
meet which, therefore, reckless of economy, she might
call up the vital strength that would have sufficed for
many quiet years. The very law that condemned her
—a giant of stern features, but with vigor to support,
as well as to annihilate, in his iron arm — ^had held her
up, through the terrible ordeal of her ignominy. Br

105

HE SCAELET LETTEB.

inatteiided walk from her prieoD-door,

custom; and slie must either austain
ivard by the ordinary resources of her
beneath It She could no longer bor-
iituie to help her through the present
)w would bring its own trial with it ;
<xt day, and so would the next ; each
d yet the very same that waa now so
JV0U8 to be borne. The days of the
■ould toil onward, still with the same
to take up, and bear along with her,
ag down; for the accumulating days,
I, would pile up their misery upon the

Throughout them all, giving up her
le would become the general symbol at
:her and moralist might point, and in
\t vivify and embody their images of
and sinful passion. Thus the young
be taught to look at her, with the scar-
; on her breast, — at her, the child of
ts, — at her, the mother of a babe, that

be a woman, — at her, who had once
-as the figure, the body, the reality of

her grave, the infamy that she must
ould be her only monument,
marvellous, that, with the world before
> reetiictive clause of her condemnation
} of the Puritan settlement, so remote
—free to return to her birth-place, or to

■■.' -

HESTER AT HER NEEDLE. 107

any other European land, and there hide her character
and identity under a new exterior, as completely as if
emerging into another state of being, — and having ulso
the passes of the dark, inscrutable forest open to her,
where the wildness of her nature might assimilate
itself with a people whose customs and life were alien
from the law that had condemned her, — it may seem
marvellous, that this woman should still call that place
her home, where, and where only, she must needs be
the type of shame. But there is a fatality, a feeling
so irresistible and inevitable that it has the force of
doom, which almost invariably compels human beings
to linger around and haunt, ghost-like, the spot where
some great and marked event has given the color to
their lifetime ; and still the more irresistibly, the darker
the tinge that saddens it. Her sin, her ignominy, were
the roots which she had struck into the soil. It was as
if a new birth, with stronger assimilations than the first,
had converted the forest-land, still so uncongenial to
every other pilgrim and wanderer, into Hester Prynne^s
wild and dreary, but life-long home. All other scenes
of earth — even that village of rural England, where
happy infancy and stainless maidenhood seemed yet to
be in her mother's keeping, like garments put off long
ago — were foreign to her, in comparison. The chain
that bound her here was of iron links, and galling to
her inmost soul, but could never be broken.

It might be, too, — doubtless it was so, although she
hid the secret fifom herself, and grew pale whenever it

THE SCAHLET LETTER.

. out of her heart, like a serpent from its hole,
it be that another feeling kept her within the
1 pathway that had been bo &tal. There dwelt,
le the feet of one with whom she deemed her-
ected iu a union, that, unrecognized on earth,
ing them together before the bar of final j udg-
i make that their marriage-altar, for a joint
)f endless retribution. Over and over again,
ber of souls had thrust this idea upon Hester's
ation, and laughed at the passlonat« and des-
f with which she seized, and then strove to cast
iT. She barely looked the idea in the face, and
to bar it in its dungeon. What she compelled
) believe, — what, finally, she reasoned upon, as
'e for continuing a resident of New England,
If a truth, and half a self-delusion. Here, she
irself, had been the scene of ber guilt, and here
J the scene of her earthly punishment; and so,
e, the torture of her daily shame would at
irge her soul, and work out another purity than
:h she had lost ; more 8aint-like, because the
martyrdom.

Frynne, therefore, did not flee. On the out-
the town, within the verge of the peninsula,
a close vidnity to any other habitation, there
all thatched cottage. It bad been built by an
ttler, and abandoned, because the soil about it
terile for cultivation, while its comparative re-
put it out of the sphere of that social activity

HESTER AT HER NEEDLE. 109

which already marked the habits of the emigrants. It
stood on the shore, looking across a basin of the sea at
the forest-covered hills, towards the west. A clump of
scrubby trees, such as alone grew on the peninsula, did
not so much conceal the cottage from view, as seem to
denote that here was some object which would fain have
been, or at least ought to be, concealed. In this little,
lonesome dwelling, with g^ome slender means that she
possessed, and by the license of the magistrates, who
still kept an inquisitorial watch over her, Hester estab-
lished herself, with her infant child. A mystic shadow
of suspicion immediately attached itself to the spot.
Children, too young to comprehend wherefore this
woman should be shut out from the sphere of human
charities, would creep nigh enough to behold her plying
her needle at the cottage-window, or standing in the
door-way, or laboring in her little garden, or coming
forth along the pathway that led townward ; and, dis-
cerning the scarlet letter on her breast, would scamper
off with a strange, contagious fear.

Lonely as was Hester's situation, and without a friend
on earth who dared to show himself, she, however, in-
curred no risk of want. She possessed an art that suf-
ficed, even in a land that afforded comparatively little
scope for its exercise, to supply food for her thriving
ibfant and herself. It was the art — ^then, as now, almost
the only one within a woman's grasp — of needle-work.
She bore on her breast, in the curiously embroidered
letter, a specimen of her delicate and imaginative skil^

HE 8CABLET LFITEH.

amea of a court might gladly have
es, to add the richer and more spiritual
iman ingenuity to their fabrics of silk
i, indeed, in the sable simplicity that
terized the Puritanic modes of dress,
n infrequent call for tbe finer produo
iiwork. Yet the taste of the age, de-
'er was elaborate in compositions of
t fail to ext«nd its influence over our
9, who had cast behind them so many
; might seem harder to dispense with.
», such as ordinations, the installation
nd all that could give majesty to the
L new government mauifeated itself to
, as a matter of policy, marked by a
conducted ceremonial, and a sombre,
1 magnificence. Deep rufis, painfully
and goi^ously embroidered gloves,
necessary t« the official state of men
aa of power ; and were readily allowed
^ified by rank or wealth, even while
brbade these and similar extravagances
rder. In the array of funerals, too, —
ipparel of the dead body, or to typify,
biematic devices of sable cloth and
sorrow of the survivors, — there was a
iracteriatic demand for such labor as
ould supply. Baby-linen — ^for babies

HESTER AT HER NEEDLE. Ill

then wore robes of state — ^afforded still another possi-
bility of toil and emolument.

By degrees, nor very slowly, her handiwork became
what would now be termed the fashion. Whether from
commiseration for a woman of so miserable a destiny ;
or from the morbid curiosity that gives a fictitious value
even to common or worthless things ; or by whatever
other intangible circumstance was then, aa now, suffi-
cient to bestow, on some persons, what others might
seek in vain; or because Hester really filled a gap
which must otherwise have remained vacant ; it is cer-
tain that she had ready and fairly requited employment
for as many hours as she saw fit to occupy with her
needle. Vanity, it may be, chose to mortify itself, by
putting on, for ceremonials of pomp and state, the gar-
ments that had been wrought by her sinfiil hands. Her
needle- work was seen on the ruff* of the Governor ; mili-
tary men wore it on their scarfe, and the minister on his
band ; it decked the baby's little cap ; it was shut up,
to be mildewed and moulder away, in the cofiins of the
dead. But it is not recorded that, in a single instance,
her skill was called in aid to embroider the white veil
which was to cover the pure blushes of a bride. The
exception indicated the ever relentless vigor with which
society frowned upon her sin.

Hester sought not to acquire anything beyond a sub-
sistence, of the plainest and most ascetic description, for
herself, and a simple abundance for her child. Her own

dress was of the coarsest materials and the most sombr
8

THE 8CABLET UTTTEB.

nly that one ornament, — the scarlet letter,
ras her doom to wear. The child's attire,
hand, was distinguished hj a t&Dcifiil, or,
her Bay, a fantastic ingenuity, which served,
jighten the airy charm that early began to
If in the little girl, but which appeared to
deeper meaning. We may speak further
er. Except for that small expenditure in
on of her infant, Hester bestowed all her
means in charity, on wretches less misera-
'Self, and who not unfrequently insulted the
ed them. Much of the time, which she
[y have applied to the better efforts of her
cloyed in making coarse garments for the
probable that there was an idea of penance
e of occupation, and that she offered up a
i of enjoyment, in devoting so many hours
) handiwork. She had in her nature a rich.
Oriental characteristic, — a taste for the
i>eautifu1, which, save in the exquisite pro-
ber needie, found nothing else, in all the
of her life, to exercise itself upon. Women
3asure, incomprehensible to the other sex,
licate toil of the needle. To Hester Frynne
re been a mode of expressing, and therefore
e passion of ber life. Like all other joys,
it ae sin. This morbid meddling of con-
an immaterial matter betokened, it is to be
;enuine and steadfast penitence, but some-

HESTER AT HEE NEEDLE.

thing doubtful, something that might be deeply
beneath.

In this manner, Hester Prynne came to havf
to perform in the world. With her native em
character, and rare capacity, it could not eatin
her oS, although it had set a mark upon her, m
tolerable to a soman's heart than that which b
the brow of Cain, In all her intercouree with i
however, there was nothing that made her feel a
belonged to it. Every gesture, every word, an
the silence of those with whom she came in c
implied, and often expressed, that she was ba
and as much alone as if she inhabited another .
or communicated with the common nature bj
organs and senses than the rest of human kind
Btood apart from moral interests, yet close beside
like a ghost that revisits the familiar fireside, ai
no longer make itself seen or felt; no more ami
the household joy, nor mourn with the kindred a
or, should it succeed in manifesting its forbidde
pathy, awakening only terror and horrible repu|
These emotions. In fact, and its bitterest scorn I
-_seemed to be the sole portion that she retained
universal heart. It was not an age of delicac;
her position, although she understood it well, a.
in little danger of forgetting it, was often brouj
fore her vivid self-perception, like a new angu
the rudest touch upon the tenderest spot. The f
we have already said, whom she sought out to

THE SCARLET LETTER,

lounty, often reviled the hand that vme
to succor them. Dames of elevated
whose doors she entered in the way of
were accustomed to distil drops of bit-
heart ; sometimes through that alchemy
by which women can concoct a subtile
inary triflea ; and sometimes, also, by a
on, that fe]l upon the sufierer's defence-
1 rough blow upon an ulcerated wound.
x)led herself long and veil ; she Dever
ese attacks, save by a flush of crimson
eSNbly over her pale cheek, and again
: depths of her boBom. She was patient,
eed, — but she forebore to pray for her
1 spite of her forgiving aspirations, the
isingshould stubbornly twist themselves

ind in a thousand other ways, did she
rable throbs of anguish that had been
mtrived for her by the undying, the
iiiee of the Puritan tribunal. Clergy*
the street to address words of exhorta-
ht a crowd, with its mingled grin and
!ie poor, siniul woman. If she entered
ng to shaie the Sabbath smile of the
',T, it was often her mishap to find her*
the discourse. She grew to have a
en ; for they had imbibed from their
: idea of something horrible in this

^

HESTER AT HER NEEDLE. 115

dreary woman, gliding silently through the town, with
never any companion but one only child. Therefore,
first allowing her to pass, they pursued her at a distance
with shrill cries, and the utterance of a word that had
no distinct purport to their own minds, but was none the
less terrible to her, as proceeding from lips that babbled
it unconsciously. It seemed to argue so wide a diffusion
of her shame, that all nature knew of it ; it could have
caused her no deeper pang, had the leaves of the trees
whispered the dark story among themselves, — had the
summer breeze murmured about it — had the wintry
blast shrieked it aloud I Another peculiar torture was 9

felt in the gaze of a new eye. When strangers looked
curiously at the scarlet letter, — and none ever failed to
do so, — they branded it afresh into Hester's soul ; so
that, oftentimes, she could scarcely refrain, yet always
did refrain, from covering the symbol with her hand.
But then, again, an accustomed eye had likewise its own
anguish to inflict. Its cool stare of familiarity was in-
tolerable. From first to last, in short, Hester. Prynne
had always this dreadfiil agony in feeling a human
eye upon the token ; the spot never grew callous ; it
seemed, on the contrary, to grow more sensitive with
daily torture.

But sometimes, once in many days, or perchance in
many months, she felt an eye — a human eye — upon the
ignominious brand, that seemed to give a momentary
relief, as if half of her agony were shared. The next
instant, back it all rushed again, with still a deepc

3 SCAKLET I.ETTER.

in that brief interval, she had ginned
■x Binned alone ?

1 was somewhat afiected, and, had
r moral and intellectual fibre, would
ore BO, by the Btrange and eolitary
). Walking to and fro, with thoBe

the little world with which she was
ed, it now and then appeared to Hes-
fancy, it was nevertheless too potent
i felt or fancied, then, that tlie Bear-
wed her with a new Benae. She ahud-
3t could not help believing, that it
hetic knowledge of the bidden Bin in
: was terror-Btrickeu by the revela-
la made. What were they ? Could
L the insidious whispers of the bad
fain have persuaded the struggling
J half his victim, that the outward
8 but a lie, and that, if truth were
shown, a scarlet letter would blaze
isom besides Heater Prynne's? Or
liOBe intimatioDs — so obscure, yet so
In all her miserable experience,

else so awful and so loathsome as
plexed, as well as ahocked her, by
pportunenesa of the occasions that
vld action. Sometimes the red in-
Bst would give a sympathetic throb,
a venerable minister or magistrate,

HESTER AT HER NEEDLE. 117

■■ ■ ■ ' ' ' ■ ■ — -' ■ — — .

the model of piety and justice, to whom that age of
antique reverence looked up, as to a mortal man in fel-
lowship with angels. " What evil thing is at hand ?"
would Hester say to herself. Lifting her reluctant
eyes, there would be nothing human within the scope
of view, save the form of this earthly saint ! Again,
a mystic sisterhood would contumaciously assert itself, /
BB she met the sanctified frown of some matron, who,
according to the rumor of all tongues, had kept cold
snow within her bosom throughout life. That unsunned ]
snow in the matron's bosom, and the burning shame
on Hester Prynne's, — what had the two in common? i
Or, once more, the electric thrill would give her warn- i
ing, — "Behold, Hester, here is a companion!" — and,
looking up, she would detect the eyes of a young
maiden glancing at the scarlet letter, shyly and aside,
and quickly averted, with a faint, chill crimson in her
cheeks ; as if her purity were somewhat sullied by that
momentary glance. O Fiend, whose talisman was that
fatal symbol, wouldst thou leave nothing, whether in
youth or age, for this poor sinner to revere ? — such loss
of faith is ever one of the saddest results of sin. Be it
accepted as a proof that all was not corrupt in this
poor victim of her own frailty, and man's hard law,
that Hester Prynne yet struggled to believe that no
fellow-mortal was guilty like herself.

The vulgar, who, in those dreary old times, were
always contributing a grotesque horror to what in-
terested their imaginations, had a story about the ac^

THE SCARLET LETTER.

lich we might readilj nork up into a terrific
ley averred, that the Hymbol was not mere
h, tinged in an earthly dye-pot, but was
1 infernal fire, and could be seen glowing
henever Hester Prynne walked abroad in
ime. And we muet needs say, it seared
som so deeply, that perhaps there was more
e rumor than our modern incredulity may
to admit

PEARL.

WE have as yet hardly spoken of the infai
little creature, whose innocent life had epi
the inacrutable decree of Providence, a lovely
mortal dower, out of the rank luxuriance of :
passion. How strange it seemed to the ead wc
she watched the growth, and the beauty that
every day more brilliant, and the intelligeuce th
ite quivering aunshine over the tiny features
child I Her Pearl ! — For bo had Hester called
as a name expressive of her aspect, which had
of the calm, white, unimfraasioned lustre that v
indicated by the comparison. But she named tl
" Pearl," as being of great price, — purchased
she had, — her mother's only treasure! How
indeed! Man had marked this woman's sin b}
let letter, which bad such potent and disastroue
,that no human sympathy could reach her, savi
sinful like herself. God, ae a direct consequeni
Bin which man thus punished, had given her :
child, whose place was on that same dishonoret
to connect her parent forever with the race and
of mortals, and to be finally a blessed soul in

THE SCARLET LETTER.

thoughts aSected Hester Prynne less with
ipprehenBioD. She knew that her deed had
ehe could have uo faith, therefore, that its
d be good. Day after day, she looked fear-
he child's expanding nature; ever dreading
3Die dark and wild peculiarity, that ehould
with, the guiltiness to which she owed her

7, there was no physical defect. By its per-
ita vigor, and its natural de^iterity in the uae
atried limbs, the infant was worthy to have
ht forth in £den ; worthy to have been lefl
the plaything of the angels, after the world's
s were driven out. The child had a native
h does not invariably coexist with faultless
attire, however simple, always impressed the
I if it were the very garb that precisely be-
st. But little Pearl was not clad in rustic
er mother, with a morbid purpose that may
nderstood hereafter, had bought the richest
. could be procured, and allowed her imagi-
ilty its fnll play in the arrangement and
of the dresses which the child wore, before
eye. So magnificent was the small figure,
irrayed, and such was the splendor of Pearl's
* beauty, shining through the gorgeous robes
it have extinguished a paler lovelinees, that
in absolute circle of radiance around her, on
oae cottage floor. And yet a russet gown,

PEAKI..

torn and soiled with the child's rude play, i
ture of her just as perfect. Pearl's aepect i
with a spell of infinite variety ; in this one
were many children, comprehending the fu]
tween the witd-flower prettineee of a peasan
the pomp, in little, of an infaut princeee. 1
all, however, there was a trait of passion, a ix
of hue, which she never lost ; and if, in
changes, she had grown &inter or paler, she
ceased to be herself; — it would have been
Pearl!

This outward mutability indicated, and d
than fairly express, the various properties o
life. Her nature appeared to possess depth,
as variety ; but — or else Heater's fears dec<
it lacked reference and adaptation to the
which she was bom. The child could a<
amenable to rules. In giving her existence,
had been broken ; and the result was a bein;
ments were perhaps beautiful and brilliani
disorder ; or with an order peculiar to
amidst which the point of variety and arran
difficult or impossible to be discovered. E
only account for the child's character — anc
most vaguely and imperfectly — by r«callir
herself had been, during that momentous i
Pearl was imbibing her soul from the spir:
and her bodily frame from Its material of i
mother's impaasioned state had been tl

THE SCARLET LETTEB.

ch were tranBmitted to the uobom infant
t9 moral life; and, however white and clear
ley had taken the deep etains of crimeoa
e fiery lustre, the black shadow, and the
light, of the intervening substance. Above
are of Hester's spirit, at that epoch, was
in Fearl. She could recognize her wild,
ifiant mood, the flightJnesB of her temper,
ne of the very cloud-ehapes of gloom and
that had brooded in her heart. They were
ited by the morning radiance of a young
isition, but, lat«r in the day of earthly
ght be prolific of the storm and whirlwind.
line of the family, in those days, was of a
id kind than now. The frown, the harsh
reqaent application of the rod, enjoined by
itbority, were used, not merely in the way
nt for actual ^Sences, but as a wholesome
;he growth and promotion of all childish
iter Frynne, nevertheless, the lonely mother
lild, ran little risk of erring on the side of
ty. Mindful, however, of her own errors
nes, she early sought to impose a tender
itrol over the infant immortality that was
> her chaise. But the task was beyond her
testing both smiles and frowns, and prov-
her mode of treatment pHtsseseed any cal-
ence, Hester was ultimately compelled to
ind permit the child to be swayed by her

OWE impulses. Physical compulsion or
effectual, of course, while it lasted. A^
kind of discipline, whether addressed to
heart, little Pearl might or might not be wii
in accordance with the caprice that ruled
Her mother, while Pearl was yet an ini
quainted with a certain peculiar look, tha
when it would be labor thrown away to ina
or plead. It was a look so intelligent, yet
BO perverse, sometimes so malicious, but gen
panied by a wild flow of epirits, that Hesi
help questioning, at such moments, wheth
a human child. She seemed rather an airyi
after playing its fantastic sports for a littl<
the cottage-floor, would flit away with a m
Whenever that look appeared iu her wild, 1;
black eyes, it invested her with a strange re
intangibility ; it was as if she were hoveri
and might vanish, like a glimmering ligh
we know not whence, and goes we know
Beholding it, Hester was constrained to i
the child, — to pursue the little elf in the
she invariably began, — to snatch her to hei
a close pressure and earnest kisses, — not 8<
overflowing love, as to assure herself ths
flesh and blood, and not utterly delusive.
laugh, when she was caught, though full o
and music, made her mother more doubtful
Heart«mitten at this bewildering and I

THE SCARLET LETTER.

me between herself and her Bole treas-
had bought so dear, and who was all
ster sometimes burst into pae^onate
>erhaps, — for there wua no foreseeing
affect her, — Pearl would frown, and
le fist, and harden her small features
sympathizing look of discontent Not
lid laugh anew, and louder than before,
apable and unintelligent of human soi^
this more rarely happened — she would
ith a rage of grief, and sob out her love
in broken words, and seem intent on
ehadaheart, by breaking it. YetHes-
safe in confiding herself to that gusty
lassed, as suddenly as it came. Brood-
leee matters, the mother felt like one
1 a spirit, but, by some irregularity in
OTJuration, has failed ta win the master-
d control this new aud incomprehensible
er only real comfort was when the child
3ity of sleep. Then she was sure of her,
s of quiet, sad, delicious happiness; uq-
th that perverse expression glimmering
!r opening lids — little Pearl awoke!
vith what strange rapidity, indeed! —
B at an age that was capable of social
ond the mother's ever-ready smile and
: And then what a happiness would it
J Hester Prynne have heard her clear,

bird-like voice mingling with the uproar of o
ish voices, and have diatiuguished and unrt
own darling's tones, amid all the entangled <
group of sportive children 1 But this could
fearl was a born outcaat of the infantile w
imp of evil, emblem and product of sin, s
right among christened infants. Nothing
remarkable than the instinct, ae it seemed, i
the child comprehended her loneliness; t'
that had drawn an inviolable circle round i
the whole peculiarity, in short, of her position
to other children. Never, since her release ft
had Hester met the public gaze without hi
her walks about the town, Pearl, too, was t
as the babe in arms, and afterwards as the
smaJl companion of her mother, holding a
with her whole grasp, and tripping along e
of three or four footsteps to one of Hesl«r's.
the children of the settlement, on the gras
of the street, or at the domestic thresholds,
themselves in such grim iashion as the Purl
ture would permit ; playing at going to el
chance ; or at scourging Quakers ; or taking
a sham-fight with the Indians ; or scaring 01
with freaks of imitative witchcraft. Pearl
gazed intently, but never sought to make
ance. If spoken to, she would not speak 1
•'le children gathered about her, as they
id, Pearl would grow positively terrible in

THE SCAKLET LETTEH.

tching up atones to fling at them, with shrill,

csclam&tions, that made her mother trem'
le they had bo much the sound of a witch's

ta aome unknown tongue.
th was, that the little Puritans, heing of the
irant brood that ever lived, had got a vague
oething outlandish, unearthly, or at variance
ary &shions, in the mother and child ; and
corned them in their hearts, and not unfre-
riled them with their tongues. Peari felt the
and requited it with the bitterest hatred that
ipoeed to rankle in a childish bosom. These
of a fierce temper had a. kind of value, and
(Ft, for her mother; because there was at least
ible eameatnesa in the mood, instead of the
ce that BO often thwarted her in the child's
ions. It appalled her, nevertheless, to discern
1, a shadowy reflection of the evil that had

bersell All this enmity and passion bad
trited, by inalienable right, out of Heater's
other and daughter stood together in the
i of sechision from human society ; and in

of the child stymed to be perpetuated those
ements that had distracted Hester Prynne
.rl'g birth, but had since begun to be soothed
lie softening influences of maternity.
e, within and around her mother's cottage,
ted not a wide and various circle of acquaint-
spell of life vent forth from her ever creative

PEAEL. 127

Bpirit, and communicated itself to a thousand objects,
as a torch kindles a flame wherever it may be applied.
The unlikeliest materials, — ^a stick, a bunch of rags, a
flower, — were the puppets of Pearl's witchcraft, and,
without undergoing any outward change, became spirit-
ually adapted to whatever drama occupied the stage of
her inner world. Her one baby-voice served a multitude
of imaginary personages, old and young, to talk withal.
The pine-trees, aged, black and solemn, and flinging
groans and other melancholy utterances on the breeze,
needed little transformation to figure as Puritan elders ;
the ugliest weeds of the garden were their children,
whom Pearl smote down and uprooted, most unmerci-
fully. It was wonderful, the vast variety of forms into
which she threw her intellect, with no continuity, in-
deed, but darting up and dancing, always in a state
of preternatural activity, — soon sinking down, as if
exhausted by so rapid and feverish a tide of life, — and
succeeded by other shapes of a similar wild energy,
it was like nothing so much as the phantasmagoric
play of the northern lights. In the mere exercise of
the fancy, however, and the sportiveness of a growing
mind, there might be little more than was observable
in other children of bright faculties ; except as Pearl,
in the dearth of human playmates, was thrown more
upon the visionary throng which she created. The
singularity lay in the hostile feelings with which the
child regarded all these offspring of her own heart and
Zuind. Bhe never created a Mend, but seemed always
9

128 THE SCARLET LETTER.

to be sowing broadcast the dragon's teeth, whence
sprung a harvest of armed enemies, against whom she
rushed to battle. It was inexpressibly sad — then what
depth of sorrow to a mother, who felt in her own heart
the cause ! — to observe, in one so young, this constant
recognition of an adverse world, and so fierce a train-
ing of the energies that were to make good her cause,
in the contest that must ensue.

Gazing at Pearl, Hester Prynne often dropped her
work upon her knees, and cried out with an agony
which she would fain have hidden, but which made
utterance for itself, betwixt speech and a. groan, — " O
Father in Heaven, — if Thou art still my Father, — what
is this being which I have brought into the world !"
And Pearl, overhearing the ejaculation, or aware,
through some more subtile channel, of those throbs of
anguish, would turn her vivid and beautiful little face
upon her mother, smile with sprite-like intelligence, and
resume her play.

One peculiarity of the child's deportment remains yet
to be told. The very first thing which she had noticed,
in her life, was — what? — not the mother's smile, re-
sponding to it, as other babies do, by that faint, embryo
smile of the little mouth, remembered so doubtfully
afterwards, and with such fond discussion whether it
were indeed a smile. By no means I But that first
object of which Pearl seemed to become aware was —
shall we say it ? — the scarlet letter on Hester's bosom !
One day, as her mother stooped over the cradle, the in-

fant'a eyes had been caught hy the glimmeri
gold embroidery about the letter ; and, putti:
little hand, ehe grasped at it, smiling, not d
but with a decided gleam, that gave her face
of a much older child. Then, gasping fur b
Heater Prynne clutch the fatal token, Instinc
deavoring to tear it away ; ho infinite was tl
inflicted by the intelligent touch of Pearl's b
Again, as if her mother's agonized gesture w<
only to make sport for her, did little Pearl loo
eyes, and smile ! From that epoch, except
child was asleep, Hester had never felt a
safety ; not a moment's calm enjoyment of her
it is true, would sometimes elapse, during whii
gaze miglit never once be fixed upon tl
letter; but then, again, it would come at
like the stroke of sudden death, and sin
that peculiar smile, and odd expression of
Once, this freakish, elvish cast came int^ t
eyes while Heater was looking at her own
them, as mothers are fond of doing ; and, su
for women in solitude, and with troubled }
pestered with unaccountable delusions, — sh
that she beheld, not her own miniature poi
another face, in the small black mirror of P
It was a face, fiend-like, full of smiling malicC;
ing the semblance of features that she had k
well, though seldom with a smile, and never w
in them. It was as if an evil spirit possessed

THE SCARLET LETTER.

just then peeped forth in mockery, Maoj a
irwards had Hester been tortured, though less
hj the same illusion. -

! afternoon of a certain summer's day, afte?
iw big enough to run about, she amused herself
heriug handfuls of wild-flowers, and flinging
e by one, at her mother's bosom ; dancing up
Q, like a little elf, whenever she hit the scarlet
Hester's first motion had been to cover her
th her clasped bands. But, whether fVom pride
ation, or a feeling that her penance might best
;ht out by this unutterable pain, ^be resisted the
and sat erect, pale as death, looking sadly into
arl's wild eyes. Still came the battery of
ilrooat invariably hitting the mark, and cover-
Qother's breast with hurts for which she could
•aim in this world, nor knew how to seek it in
At last, her shot being alt expended, the child
II and gazed at Hester, with that little, laugh-
€ of a fiend peeping out — or, whether it peeped
;r mother so imagined it — from the unsearch-
se of her black eyes.
1, what art thou ?" cried the mother.
am your little Pearl I" answered the child.
rbile she said it, Pearl laughed, and began to
I and down, with the humorsome gesticulation
i imp, whose next freak might be to fly up the

thou my child, in very truth ?" asked Hester.

.■!^?^'»~*

>

PEARL. 131

Nor did she put the question altogether idly, but, for
the moment, with a portion of genuine earnestness ; for,
such was Pearl's wonderful intelligence, that her mother
half doubted whether she were not acquainted with the
secret spell of her existence, and might not now reveal
herself.

" Yes ; I am little Pearl I" repeated the child, contin-
uing her antics.

"Thou art not my child! Thou art no Pearl of ^
mine!" said the mother, half playfully; for it was |
often the case that a sportive impulse came over her, f
in the midst of her deepest suffering. " Tell me, then, /
what thou art, and who sent thee hither ?"

" Tell me, mother I" said the child, seriously, coming
up to Hester, and pressing herself close to her knees.
« Do thou tell me !"

" Thy Heavenly Father sent thee !" answered Hester
Prynne.

But she said it with a hesitation that did not escape
the acuteness of the child. Whether moved only by
her ordinary freakishness, or because an evil spirit
prompted her, she put up her small forefinger, and
touched the scarlet letter.

"He did not send me!" cried she, positively. "I
have no Heavenly Father !"

" Hush, Pearl, hush ! Thou must not talk so !" an-
swered the mother, suppressing a groan. " He sent us
all into this world. He sent even me, thy mother.

THE SCARLET LETTER.

more, thee! Or, if not, thou strange and
whentie didst thou come?"
1 1 Tell me !" repeated Pearl, no longer
t laughing, and capering about the floor,
ihat must tell me I"

!r could not resolve the query, being herself
a,byrinth of doubt. She remembered — be-
e and a shudder — the talk of the neighbor-
)ple ; who, seeking vainly elsewhere for the
nity, and observing some of her odd attri-
iven out that poor little Pearl was a demon
ich as, ever since old Catholic times, had
been seen on earth, through the agency
ther's sin, and to promote some foul and
lOse. Luther, according to the scandal of
enemies, was a brat of that hellish breed ;
rl the only child to whom this inauspicious
esigned, among the New England Puritans.

THE GOVERNOR'S HALL.

HESTER PEYNNE went, one day, to t
of Governor Bellinghsm, with a paii
which she had fringed and embroidered t<
and which were to be worn on some great
state ; ibr, though the chances of a popul
had caused this former ruler to descend a
from the highest rank, he still held an hoi
influential place among the colonial magisti
Another and far more important reason t
livery of a pair of embroidered gloves impel
at this time, to seek an interview with a pen
much power and activity in the affairs of the
It had reached her ears, that there was a de
part of some of the leading inhabitants, ch<
more rigid order of principles in religion t
ment, to deprive her of her child. On the
that Pearl, as already hinted, was of dei
these good people not unreasonably argi
Christian interest in the mother's soul re^
to remove such a stumbling-block from he:
the child, on the other hand, were really
moral and religious growth, and possessed t

THE SCARLET LETTTEB.

I Balvation, then, eurely, it would enjoy all
roepect of these advantages, by being trana-
riser and better guardianship than Hester
Among those vho promoted the design,
kllingbam was said to be one of the moet
lay appear singular, and, indeed, not a little
hat an affair of this kind, which, in later
I have been referred to no higher juriedic-
:hat of the selectiuen of the town, should
been a question publicly discussed, and ou
jmen of eminence took sides. At that epoch
simplicity, however, matters of even slighter
rest, and of far less intrinsic weight, than
I of Hester and her child, were strangely
rith the deliberations of legislators and acts
lie period was hardly, If at all, earlier than
story, when a dispute concerning the right
in a pig not only caused a fierce and bitter
the legislative body of the colony, tut re-
I important modification of the framework
; legislature.

oncem, therefore, — ^but so conscious of her
iiat it seemed scarcely an unequal match be-
ublic, on the one side, and a lonely woman,
the sympathies of nature, ou the other, — ■
■nne set forth from her solitary cottage.
I, of course, was her companion. She was
^;e to run lightly along by her mother's
>nstantly in motion, from morn till sunset*

THE governor's HALL,. 135

■ I n ,, ■ , I .

could have accomplished a much longer journey than
that before her. Often, nevertheless, more from caprice
than necessity, she demanded to be taken up in arms ;
but was soon as imperious to be set down again, and
frisked onward before Hester on the grassy pathway,
with many a harmless trip and tumble. We have
spoken of Pearl's rich and luxuriant beauty ; a beauty
that shone with deep and vivid tints ; a bright com-
plexion, eyes possessing intensity both of depth and
glow, and hair already of a deep, glossy brown, and
which, in after years, would be nearly akin to black. •
There was fire in her and throughout her ; she seemed!
the unpremeditated offshoot of a passionate moment. ^^
Her mother, in contriving the child's garb, had allowed
the gorgeous tendencies of her imagination their full
play ; arraying her in a crimson velvet tunic, of a pecu-
liar cut, abundantly embroidered with fantasies and
flourishes of gold thread. So much strength of color-
ing, which must have given a wan and pallid aspect to
cheeks of a fainter bloom, was admirably adapted to
Pearl's beauty, and made her the very brightest little
jet of flame that ever danced upon the earth.

But it was a remarkable attribute of this garb, and,
indeed, of the child's whole appearance, that it irresist-
ibly and inevitably reminded the beholder of the token
which Hester Prynne was doomed to wear upon her
bosom. It was the scarlet letter in another form ; the
scarlet letter endowed with life ! The mother herself —
as if the red ignominy were so deeply scorched into her

HE 6CABLET LETTER.

er conceptions aBsumed ita form — had
bt out the similitude ; lavJEhing many
ingenuity, to create an analogy between
' affection and the emblem of her guilt
ut, in truth. Pearl was the one, as well
id only in consequence of that identity
rived so perfectly to represent the scar-
appearance.

ayfarers came within the precincts of
lildren of the Puritans looked up from
vhat passed for play with those sombre
*nd spake gravely one to another : —
Jy, there is the woman of the scarlet
i, truth, moreover, there is the likeness
:ter running along by her side 1 Come,
it us fling mud at them 1"
10 wiiB a dauntless child, after frowning,
)t, and shaking her little hand with a
tening gestures, suddenly made a rush
ler enemies, and put them all to flight.
in her fierce pursuit of them, an infant
scarlet fever, or some such half-fledged
mt, — whose mission was to punish the
generation. She screamed and shouted,
fie volume of sound, which, doubtless,
:s of the fugitives to quake within them,
implished, Pearl returned quietly to her
ked up, smiling, into her face.
Iier adventure, they reached the dwell-

THE OOVEBHOR'S HALL. 137

ing of Governor Bellingham. This was a lai^ vooden
house, built in a fashion of which tliere are specimens
Btill extant in the streets of our elder towns ;
grown, crumbling to decay, and melanchol;
with the many sorrowiul or joyful oceurrena
bered or forgotteu, that have happened, a
away, within their dusky chambers. Then
there was the freshness of the passing year
terior, and the cheerfulness, gleaming forth
sunny windows, of a human habitation, in tow!
had never entered. It had, indeed, a very cheE
the walls being overspread with a kind of
which fragments of broken glass were plentii
mixed ; so that, when the sunshiue fell aslant
the front of the edifice, it glittered and spar
diamonds had been flung against it by tl
handful. The hrilliancy might have befitted
palace, rather than the mansion of a. grave
tan ruler. It waa further decorated with st
seemingly cabalistic figures and diagrams
to the quaint taste of the age, wliich had hi
in the stucco when newly laid on, and
grown hard and durable, for the admiratio:
times.

Pearl, looking at this bright wonder of a
gan to caper and dauce, and imperatively
that the whole breadth of sunshine should b
off its front, and given her to play with,

"No, my little Pearll" said her mother.

138 THE scAEijrr letter.

must gather thine own sunshine. I have none to give

thee !"

They approached the door, which was of an arched
form, and flanked on each side by a narrow tower or
projection of the edifice, in both of which were lattice-
windows, with wooden shutters to close over them at
need. Lifting the iron hammer that hung at the portal,
Hester Prynne gave a summons, which was answered
by one of the Governor's bond-servants ; a free-bom
Englishman, but now a seven years' slave. During
that term he was to be the property of his master, and
as much a commodity of bargain and sale as an os, or
a joint-Etool. The serf wore the blue coat, which was
the customary garb of servii^-men at that period, and
long before, in the old hereditary halls of Englaod.

"Is the worshipiul Governor Bellingham within?"
inquired Hester.

"Yea, forsooth," replied the bond-servant, stariag
with wide-open eyes at the scarlet letter, which, being
a new-comer in the country, he had never before seen.
"Yea, his honorable worship is within. But he hath a
godly minister or two with him, and likewise a leech.
Ye may not see his worship now."

" Nevertheless, I will enter," answered Hester
Prynne; and the bond-servant, perhaps judpng from
the decision of her air, and the glittering symbol in her
bosom, that she was a great lady in the land, offered no
opposition.

80 the mother and little Pearl were admitted into

THE governor's HALL. 139

* III

the hall of entrance. With many variations, suggested
by the nature of his building materials, diversity of
climate, and a different mode of social life. Governor
Bellingham had planned his new habitation after the
residences of gentlemen of fair estate in his native land.
Here, then, was a wide and reasonably lofty hall, ex-
tending through the whole depth of the house, and
forming a medium of general communication, more or
less directly, with all the other apartments. At one
extremity, this spacious room was lighted by the win-
dows of the two towers, which formed a small recess on
either side of the portal. At the other end, though
partly muffled by a curtain, it was more powerfully
illuminated by one of those embbwed hall-windows
which we read of in old books, and which was provided
with a keep and cushioned seat. Here, on the cushion,
lay a folio tome, probably of the Chronicles of England,
or other such substantial literature ; even as, in our own
days, we scatter gilded volumes on the centre-table, to
be turned over by the casual guest. The furniture of
the hall consisted of some ponderous chairs, the backs
of which were elaborately carved with wreaths of oaken
flowers; and likewise a table in the same taste; the
whole being of the Elizabethan age, or perhaps earlier,
and heirlooms, transferred hither from the Governor's
paternal home. On the table — in token that the sen-
timent of old English hospitality had not been left
behind — stood a large pewter tankard, at the bottom of
which, had Hester or Pearl peeped into it, they mip^^

^

140 THE SCARLET LETTER.

have seen the frothy remnant of a recent draught of
ale.

On the wall hung a row of portraits, representing the
forefathers of the Bellingham lineage, some with armor
on their breasts, and others with stately ruffs and robes
of peace. All were characterized by the sternness and
severity which old portraits so invariably put on ; as if
they were the ghosts, rather than the pictures, of de-
parted worthies, and were gazing with harsh and intol-
erant criticism at the pursuits and enjoyments of living
men.

At about the centre of the oaken panels, that lined
the hall, was suspended a suit of mail, not, like the
pictures, an ancestral relic, but of the most modern date ;
for it had been manu^ctured by a skilful armorer in
London, the same year in which Governor Bellingham
came over to New England. There was a steel head-
piece, a cuirass, a gorget, and greaves, with a pair of
gauntlets and a sword hanging beneath ; all, and espe-
cially the helmet and breastplate, so highly burnished
as to glow with white radiance, and scatter an illumina-
tion everywhere about upon the floor. This bright
panoply was not meant for mere idle show, but had
been worn by the Governor on many a solemn muster
and training field, and had glittered, moreover, at the
head of a regiment in the Pequod war. For, though
bred a lawyer, and accustomed to speak of Bacon, Coke,
Noye, and Finch as his professional associates, the ex-
' ■'^ncies of this new country had transformed Governor

THE GOVERNOR'S HALL.

BelUogham into a soldier, as well as a e'
ruler.

Little Pearl — who was as greatly pie
gleaming armor as she had been with the |
tispiec« of the house — gpentsonie time lo<
polished mirror of the breastplate,

" Mother," cried she, " I see you here. I

Hester looked, by way of humoring tl
she saw that, owing to the peculiar efiei
vex mirror, the scarlet letter was represe
gerated and gigantic proportions, so as to
most prominent feature of her appearaci
she seemed absolutely hidden behind it.
upward, also, at a similar picture in tfa
smiling at her mother, with the elfish inl
was so familiar an expression on her small
That look of naughty merriment was liki
in the mirror, with so much breadth am
effect, that it made Hester Prynne feel as
be the image of her own child, but of an
seeking to mould itself into Pearl's shapi

" Come ftlong, Pearl," said she, draw!
" Come and look into this fair garden.
shall see flowers there; more beautiful ont
in the woods,"

Pearl, accordingly, ran to the bow-w
further end of the hall, and looked alon
a garden-walk, carpeted with closely aha
bordered with some rude and immatui

THE SCARtET l^TTTEa.

. But the proprietor appeared already to have
ed, as hopeless, the effort to perpetuate on this
i Atlantic, in a hard soil and amid the close
or subsistence, the native English taste for
il gardening. Cabbages grew in plain sight;
ipkin-vine, rooted at some distance, had run
I intervening space, and deposited one of its
iroducts directly beneath the hall-window ; aa

the Governor that this great lump of vege-
1 was as rich an ornament as Hew England
Id offer him. There were a few rose-bushes,
ind a number of apple-trees, probably the de-
of those planted by the Reverend Mr. Black-
first settler of the peninsula ; that half mytho-
rsonage, who rides through our early annals,
the back of a bull.

eeing the rose-bushes, began to cry for s red
would not be pacified.

child, bush !" said her mother, earnestly.
cry, dear little Pearl ! I hear voices in the
fhe Governor is coming, and gentlemen along

adowa the vista of the garden avenue, a num-
H>ns were seen approaching towards the house,
utter scorn of her mother's attempt to quiet
an eldritch scream, and then became silent ;
iny notion of obedience, but because the quick
e curiosity of her diaposition waa excited by
ranee of these new personages.

VIII.

THE ELF-CHILD AND THE MINISTER.

GOVERNOR BELLINGHAM, in a looee gown
and easy cap, — snch as elderly gentlemen loved
to endue themaelres with, in their domestic privacy, —
walked foremost, and appeared to bo showing off his
estate, and expatiating on his projected improvements.
The wide circumference of an elaborate ruff, beneath
his gray beard, in the antiquated fkshion of King
James' reign, caused his head to look not a little like
that of John the Baptist in a chai^r. The impression
made by bis aspect, so rig^d and severe, and froBtrbitten
with more than autumnal age, was hardly in keeping
with the appliances of worldly enjoyment wherewith
he had evidently done his utmost to surround himself.
But it is an error to suppose that our grave forefethers I
— though accustomed to Bpeak and think of human 1 .
existence as a state merely of trial and warfare, and !
though unieignedly prepared to sacrifice goods and [
life at the behest of duty — made it a matter of con-
science to reject such means of comfort, or even luxury, ■
as lay faixlj within they- grasp. This creed was never i
taught, for instance, by the venerable pastor, John i

144 THE SCARLFT LETTBE.

Wilson, whose beard, white as a snow-drift, was smu
over Governor Bellingham's shoulder ; while its wearer
suggested that pears and peaches might yet be natural-
ized in the New England climate, and that purple
grapes might possibly be compelled to flourish, against
the sunny garden-wall. The old clergyman, nurtured
at the rich bosom of Che English Church, had a long-
established and legitimate taste fur all good and com-
fortable things; and however stem he might show
himself in the pulpit, or in his public reproof of such
transgressions as that of Hester Pryone, still, the genial
benevolence of his private life had won him warmer
affection than was accorded to any of his professional
contemporaries.

Behind the Governor and Mr. Wilson came two other
guests ; one, the Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale, whom
the reader may remember, as having taken a brief and
reluctant part in the scene of Hester Prynne's disgrace ;
and, in close companionship with him, old Roger Chil-
lingworth, a person of great skill in physic, who, for two
or three years past, had been settled in the town, it
was understood that this learned man was the physician
as well as friend of the young minister, whose health
had severely suffered, of late, by his too unreserved
self-sacrifice to the labors and duties of the pastoral
relation.

The Governor, in advance of his visitors, ascended
one or two steps, and, throwing open the leaves of the
great hall window, found himself close to little PearL

THE ELP-CHIU) AND THE MINISTEB. 145

The shadow of the curtain fell on Hester Prynne, and
partially concealed her.

" What have we here ?" said Governor Bellingham,
looking with surprise at the scarlet little figure beibre
him. " I profess, I have never seen the like, since my
days of vanity, in old King James' time, when I was
wont to esteem it a high favor to be admitted to a
court mask I There used to be a. swarm of these small
apparitions, in holiday time ; and we called them chil-
dren of the Lord of Misrule. But how gat such a
guest into my hall?"

"Ay, indeed 1" cried good old Mr. Wilson. " What
little bird of scarlet plumage may this be? Methinka
I have seen juat such figures, when the sun has been
shining through a richly painted window, and tracing
out the golden and crimson images across the floor.
But that was in the old land. Prithee, young one, who
art thou, and what has ailed thy mother to bedizen thee
in this strange fashion ? Art thou a Christian child, —
La? Dost know thy catechism? Or art thou one of
those naughty elfe or fairies, whom we thought to have
left behind us, with other relics of Papistry, in merry
old England?"

" I am mother'a child !" anawered the scarlet vision,
" and my name ip Pearl !"

" Pearl ? — Ruby, rather ! — or Coral ! — or Red Rose,
at the very least, judging from thy hue !" responded the
old minister, putting forth his hand in a vain attempt
to pat little Pearl on the cheek. " But where is t^'-

7F LETTER.

ee!" he added; and, tum-
m, whispered, " This is the
have held speech together ;
py woman, Hester Pry one,

the Governor. " Nay, we
ich a child's mother must
id a worthy type of her of
t s good time ; and we will
ith."

ipped through the window
s three guests.
I, fixing his naturally stem
scarlet letter, "there hath
ming thee, of late. The
■iscussed, whether we, that
ice, do well discharge our
nmortal soul, such as there
ruidance of one who hath
the pitfalls of this world,
n mother! "Were it not,
one's temporal and eternal
ut of thy chai^, and clad
ctly, and instructed in the
F What i»uist thou do for

'earl what I have learned
r Prynne, laying her finger

THE ELF-CHILD AND THE MINISTER. 147

■ ■I I I ■ ■■■■■■■ ■■ ■.■■■■ I. ■ — ■ — ■■ — ■ ■- ■ -,.-- ■■^^ ■ ■■ ^■» ■■■■ ■■ ■■ . , ■ , ^

" Woman, it is thy badge of shame !" replied thq
stern magistrate. " It is because of the stain which
' that letter indicates, that we would transfer thy child
to other hands."

"Nevertheless," said the mother, calmly, though
growing more pale, " this badge hath taught me, — it
daily teaches me, — it is teaching me at this moment,
— lessons whereof my child may be the wiser and bet-
terj albeit they can profit nothing to myself."

" We will judge warily," said Bellingham, " and look
well what we are about to do. Grood Master Wilson, I
pray you, examine this Pearl, — since that is her name,
— and see whether she hath had such Christian nurture
as befits a child of her age."

The old minister seated himself in an arm-chair, and
made an effort to draw Pearl betwixt his knees. But
the child, unaccustomed to the touch or familiarity of
any but her mother^ escaped through the open window,
and stood on the upper step, looking like a wild tropical
bird, of rich plumage, ready to take flight into the upper
air. Mr. Wilson, not a little astonished at this out-
break, — ^for he was a grandfatherly sort of personage,
and usually a vast favorite with children,— essayed,
however, to proceed with the examination.

" Pearl," said he, with great solemnity, " thou must
take heed to instruction, that so, in due season, thou
•mayest wear in thy bosom the pearl of great price.
Canst thou tell me, my child, who made thee?"

Now Pearl knew well enough who made her; for

E 8CARI.ET LETTER.

;he daughter of a pious home, very
i. with the child about her Heavenly
a to inform her of those truths which
;, at whatever stage of immaturity,
. eager interest. Pearl, therefore, so
ainments of her three years' lifetime,
a fair examioation in the New Eng-
ihe first column of the WestmJDster
ugh unacquainted with the outward
hose celebrated works. But that per-
children have more or less of, and
earl had a ten-fold portion, now, at
rtune moment, took thorough pos-
L closed her lipa, or impelled her to
e. After putting her finger in her
f ungracious refusals to answer good
itioD, the child finally announced that
made at all, but had been plucked by
i bush of wild roses that grew by the

■as probably suggested by the near
Governor's red roses, ea Pearl stood
idow ; together with her recollection
-bush, which she had passed in com-

llingworth, with a smile on his face,
ling in the young clergyman's ear.
loked at the man of skill, and even
i hanging in the balance, was startled

THE ELF-CHILD AND THE MIKISTER. 149

to perceive what a change had come over his features,

— how much uglier they were, — how bii

plexion seemed to have grown duskier, ai

more miaahapen, — since the days when sh

iarly known him. She met his eyes for an

was immediately constrained to give all h

to the scene now going forward.

" This is awful !" cried the Governor, slo
ing from the astonishment into which Pea
had thrown him. " Here ifl a child of thri
and she cannot tell who made her ! Witht
ehe is equally in the dark as to her sou
depravity, and future destiny 1 Metbinks
we need inquire no further."

Hester caught hold of Pearl, and drew
into her arms, confronting the old Puritai
with almost a fierce expression. Alone ii
cast off by it, and with this sole treasure
heart alive, sh*. felt that she possessed
rights against the world, and was read;
them to the death.

" God gave me the child \" cried she. " ]
in requital of all things else, which ye had
me. She is my happiness! — she is my t
the less 1 Pearl keeps me here in lite ! Pe
me too! See ye not, she is the scarlet
capable of being loved, and so endowed wil
fold the power of retribution for my sin ? ^
take her 1 I will die first I"

THE SCABU::! J^ETTKB.

r woman," said the not unkind old mioieter,
shall be well caied for! — far better than
io it."

ve her into my keeping," repeated Hester
sing her voice almost to a shriek. " I will
ir up !" — And here, by a sudden impulse,
to the youDg clergyman, Mr. Dimmeedale,
D to this moment, she had seemed hardly so
lee to direct her eyea. — "Speak thou for
she. " Thou wast my paster, and hadst
ly soul, and knoweet me better than these
I will Dot lose the child 1 8peak for me !
est, — for thou hast sympathies which these
-thou knoweet what is in my heart, and
mother'a rights, and how much the stronger
len that mother has but her child and the
IT I Look thou to it ! X will not lose the
)k to it !"

Jd and singular appeal, whjf h indicated that
ine's situation had provoked her to little less
ee, the young minister at once came forward,
olding his hand over his heart, as was his
never his peculiarly nervous temperament
into agitation. He looked now more care-
maciated than as we described him at the
ster's public ignominy; and whether it were
lealth, or whatever the cause might be, his
eyes had a world of pain in their troubled
holy depth.

THE ELF-CHILD AND THE MINISTEE. 161

" There is truth in what ahe Bays," began the minieter,
with a voice sweet, tremulous, but powerful, insomuch
that the hall reechoed, aDd the hollow armor rang with
it, — " truth in what Hester says, and in the feeling- which
inspires her ! God gave her the child, and gave her,
too, an inetioctive knowledge of its nature and require-
ments, — both seemingly so peculiar, — ^which no other
mortal being can possess. And, moreover, is there not
a quality of awful sacredness In the relation between
this mother and thb chUd ?"

"Ay! — how is that, good Master Dimmesdalef
interrupted the Governor. " Make that plain, I pray
you I"

" It must be even so," resumed the minister. " For,
if we deem it otherwise, do we not thereby say that the
Heavenly Father, the Creator of all flesh, hath lightly
recognized a deed of sin, and made of no account the
distinction between unhallowed lust and holy love?
This child of its father's guilt and its mother's shame
hath come from the hand of God, to work in many
ways upon her heart, who pleads so earnestly, and with
such bitterness of spirit, the right to keep her. It was
meant for a blessing ; for the one blessing of her life !
It was meant, doubtless, as the mother herself hath told
us, for a retribution too; a torture to be felt at many an
untliought-of moment; a pang, a sting, an ever-recur-
ring agony, in the midst of a troubled joy 1 Hath she
not expressed this thought in the garb of the poor child.

TilE SCAELET LETTER.

reminding ua of that red symbol whicli seara

aid, again !" cried good Mr. Wilaon. " I
voman had do better thought than to make
■nk of her child !"

so! — not eol" continued Mr. Dimmeadale.
nizes, believe me, the solemn miracle which
Tought, in the eiJatenoe of that child. And
il, too, — what, methinks, is the very truth,
boon was meant, above all things else, to
>tlier'e soul alive, and to preserve her from
ths of Bin into which Satan might else have
)lunge her ! Therefore it is good for this
woman tliat she hath an infant immortality,
)able of eternal joy or sorrow, confided to
a be trained up by her to righteousness, —
ler, at every moment, of her fall, — but yet
', as it were by the Creator's sacred pledge,
bring the child to heaven, the child also
its parent thither I Herein is the sinful
pier than the sinful father. For Hester
ke, then, and no less for the poor child's
leave them as Providence hath seen fit to

lak, my friend, with a strange earnestness,"
^r Chillingworth, smiling at him.
ere is a weighty import in what my young
1 spoken," added the Reverend Mr. Wilson.

THE ELF-CHLLD AMD THE M

Vhataay you, worshipful Master Bel
not pleaded well for the poor woniE
'Indeed hath he," answered the r
^h adduced such argumenta, that wc
1 matter as it now stands ; so long, i
ill be no further scandal in the won
had, nevertheless, to put the child t'
imiuation in the catechism, at thy ]
lumesdale's. Moreover, at a proper
-men must take heed that she go bi
meeting."

The young minister, on ceasiug to e
ivin a few steps from the group, an
e partially concealed in the heavy i
T-curtain ; while the shadow of his i
light cast upon the floor, was tre
lemence of his appeal. Pearl, that
ie elf, stole softly towards him, and
;he grasp of both her own, laid her i
dress so tender, and withal so unobl
ther, who was looking on, asked he
Pearl?" Yet she knew that there
Id's heart, although il mostly reveal
1, and hardly twice in her lifetime hi
juch gentleness as now. The miuistt
g-BOUght r^arde of woman, nothing
ie marks of childish preference, a
usly by a spiritual instinct, and ther
dy in us something truly worthy to

HE SCABLET LETTER.

ound, laid hia hand on the child's head,
iDt, and then kissed her brow. Little
1 mood of sentimeDt lasted no longer;
went capering down the hall, so airily,
son raised a question whether even her
he floor.

iggage hath witchcraft in her, I pro-
Vlr. Bimmeadale. " She needs no old
:ick to &y withal I"

lild!" remarked old Roger Chilling-
■my to see the mother's part in her.
^ond a philosopher's research, think
analyze that child's nature, and, from
Quld, to give a shrewd guess at the

Id be sinful, in such a question, to fol-
>rofane philosophy," said Mr, Wilson,
ind pray upon it ; and still better, it
e the mystery as we find it, unless
!al it of its own accord. Thereby,
Btian man hath a title to show a &•
awards the poor, deserted babe."
ng so satisfactorily concluded, Hester
irl, departed from the house. As they
!ps, it is averred that the lattice of a
was thrown open, and forth into the
thrust the face of Mistress Hibbins,
{ham's bitter-tempered sister, and the
years later, was executed as a witch.

THE ELP-CHILD AND THE MIKI6TBR.

"Hist, hiatl" said ahe, while her ill-omened """
nomy seemed to cast a shadow over the ehet
neaa of the house, " WiJt thou go with us
There will be a merry company in the foret
well-nigh promised the Black Man that come
Prynne should mate one."

" Make my excuse to him, so please you !"
Heater, with a triumphant smile. " I must
home, and keep watch over my little Pea
they taken her from me, I would willingly h
with thee into the forest, and signed my na:
Black Man's book too, and that with n
blood !"

" We shall have thee there anon I" said t
lady, frowning, as she drew back her head.

But here — if we suppose this interview bet'
tref« Hibbina and Hester Prynne to be authe
not a parable — was already an illustration of t
minister's argument E^inst Bunderingthe reli
fallen mother to the ofiapring of her frailty. I
«arly had the child saved her from Satan's an

LEECH.

1 of Roger Chillingworth, the
r, was hidden another name,
id resolved should Dever more
slated, how, in the crowd that
s igDominioua exposure, stood
1, who, just emerging from the
Id the woman, in whom he
;he warmth and cheerfiilnesa
)f ain before the people. Her
en under all men's feet la-
id her in the public maxket-
should the tidings ever reach
ma of her unspotted life, there
e contagion of her dishonor;
e distributed in strict accord-
the intimacy and sacredncss
iship. Then why — since the
should the individual, whose
woman had been the most in-
all, come forward to vindicate
e so little desirable? He re-
beside-her on her pedestal of

THE LEECH. 157

shame. Unknown to all but Hester Prynne, and pos-
BeBsing the lock and key of her silence, he chose to with-
draw his name from the roll of mankind, ai
garded his former ties and interests, to vanif
life 83 completely as if he indeed lay at the 1:
the ocean, whither rumor had long ago consij
This purpose once effected, new interests wou
diately spring up, and likewise a new purpose
is true, if not guilty, but of force enough to ei
full strength of his faculties.

In pursuance of this resolve, he took up his
in the Puritan town, as Roger Chillingwortli
other introduction than the learning and intell
which he possessed more than a common mea
his studies, at a previous period of his life, 1:
him extensively acquainted with the niedici
of the day, it was as a physician that he prese
self, and as such was cordially received. Ski
of the medical and chirurgical profession, wei
occurrence in the colony. They seldom, it t
pear, partook of the religious zeal that brou
emigrants across the Atlantic. In their resea:
the human frame, it may be that the higher i
subtile faculties of such men were material
that they lost the spiritual view of existence
intricacies of that wondrous mechanism, whic
to involve art enough to comprise all of life '
self At all events, the health of the good
Boston, so lar as medieine had aught to do wi

THE aCARLET LETTER.

D the guardianship of an aged deacon and
hose piety and godly deportment were
nonials in his &vor than any that he
oduced in the shape of a diploma. The
vas one who combined the occasional ex-
noble art with the daily and habitual
ftzor. To such a professional body Koger
was a brilliant acquisition. He soon
. ^miliaritj with the ponderous and im-
lery of antique physic ; in which every
ued a multitude of far-fetched and hetero-
lients, as elaborately compounded as if the
t had been the Elixir of Life. In bis In-
, moreover, he had gained much know-
iroperties of native herbs and roots ; nor
il irom his patients, that these dmpla
ture'a boon to the untutored savage, had
I a share of his own confidence as the
.rmacop<eia, which bo many learned doc-
centuries in elaborating.
i stranger was exemplary, as regarded, at
'ard forme of a teligious life, and, early
al, had chosen for his spiritual guide the
Dimmesdale. The young divine, whose
Qown Btill lived in Oxford, was considered
■vent admirera as little leas than a heaven-
lostle, destined, should he live and labor
ry term of life, to do as great deeds for
le New England Church, as the early

THE LEECH. 1B9

Fathers had achieved for the m&.Dcy of the Christiaa
faith. About thU period, however, the healt
Dimmesdale had evidently begun to fail. '.
best acquainted with his babiU, the palenef
young mmiEter'e cheek was accounted for b,
earnest devotion to study, his scrupulous fulfi
parochial duty, and, more than all, by the 1
vigils of which he made a frequent practice, in
keep tlie grossness of this earthly state from
and obscuring his spiritual lamp. 8ome decla
if Mr, Dimmesdale were really going to di
cause enough, that the world was not worthy 1
longer trodden by his feet. He himself, on t
hand, with characteristic humility, avowed 1
that, if Providence should see fit to removt
would be because of his own unworthiness to
its humblest mission here on earth. With al
ference of opinion as to the cause of his decli
could be no question of the fact. His form g
dated ; his voice, though still rich and sweet, 1
tain melancholy prophecy of decay in it ; he ■
observed, on any alight alarm or other sudden
to put his hand over his heart, with first a J
then a paleness, indicative of pain.
. Such was the young clergyman's conditio!
imminent the prospect that his dawning light
extinguished, all untimely, when Roger Chill
made his advent to the town. His first enti
scene, few people could tell whence, droppii

THE SCARLET LBTTEK.

ut of the sky, or starting from the Dether
an aspect of mystery, which was easily
the miraculous. He was now known to
' skill ; it was observed that he gathered
.he bloBsoms of wild-flowers, and dug up
lucked off twigs from the forest-trees, like
,ed with hidden virtues in what was value-
uon eyes. He was heard to speak of Sir
by, and other famous men, — whose scien-
euts were esteemed hardly less than super-
having been his correspondents or asso-
', with such rank in the learned world, had
ler? What could he, whose sphere was in
be seeking in the wilderness? In answer
r, a rumor gained ground, — and, however
entertained by some very sensible people,
ren had wrought an absolute miracle, by
an eminent Doctor of Physic, from a Ger-
ity, bodily through the air, and setting him
doorof Mr. Dimmesdale's study! Individ-
faith, indeed, who knew that Heaven pro-
i^scs without aiming at the stage effect of
;d miraculous interposition, were inclined
ideutial hand iu Roger Chilling worth's so
■rival.

was countenanced by the strong int«r^
lysician ever manifested in the young cler-
attached himself to him as a parishioner,
to win a friendly regard and confidence

THE LEECH. 161

from his naturally reserved sensibility. He expressed
great alarm at his pastor's state of health, hut was
anxious to attempt the cure, and, if ear
seemed not despondent of a favorabli
elders, the deacons, the motherly dames,
and fair maidens, of Mr. Dimmesdale'a fl'
importunate that he should make trial of
frankly ofifered skill, Mr, Dimmesdale j
their entreaties.

" I need no medicine," said he,

But how could the young minister say
every successive Sabbath, his cheek was |
ncr, and his voice more tremulous than
it liad now become a constant habit, rathe
gesture, to press bis hand over his he.
weary of his labors ? Did he wish to die
tiona were solemnly propounded to Mr. I
the elder ministers of Boston and the
church, who, to use their own phrase, " d<
on the sin of rejecting the aid which
manifestly held out. He listened in silen
promised to confer with the physician.

" Were it Gfod'a will,", said the Revei
mesdale, when, in fulfilment of this pledgi
old Roger Chilling worth's professional at
be well content, that my labors, and m;
my sins, and my paina, should shortly
and what is earthly of them be buried
and the spiritual go with me to my

THE SCABLEir LETTEB.

that you should put your skill to the
r behalf."

lied Roger Chillingworth, with that quiet-

whether imposed or natural, marked all

Dt, " it ia thus that a young clergyman is

Youthful men, not having taken a deep

their hold of life so easily 1 And saintly
Ik with God on earth, would fain be away,

him on the golden pavements of the New

ijoined the young minister, putting hia

leart, with a flush of pain flitting over hia

I worthier to walk there, I could be bet-

) toil here."

Q ever interpret themselves too meanly,"

lician.

tnner, the mysterious old Roger ChilUag-

3 the medical adviser of the Reverend Mr.

As not only the disease interested the
t he was strongly moved to look into the
1 qualities of the patient, these two men, so
ige, came gradually to spend much time
ir the sake of the minister's health, aud to
ich to gather plants with healing balm in
ok long walks on the seashore, or in the
ing various talk with the plash and mur-
aves, and the solemn wind-anthem among

Often, likewise, one was the guest of the
place of study and retirement There was

THE LEECH.

a faecination for the minister in the con
man of science, in whom he recognized an
cultivation of no moderate depth or set
with a range and freedom of ideas, that h
vainly looked for among the members of
fession. In truth, he was startled, if not
find this attribute in the physician. Mr.
was a true priest, a true religionist, with th
sentiment largely developed, and an order
impelled itself powerfully along the tracl
and wore its paas^e continually deeper w
of time. In no state of society would hi
what is called a man of liberal views ; it m
be essential to his peace to feel the pressn
about him, supporting, while it confined hi
iron framework. Not the less, however,
a tremulous enjoyment, did he feel the oi
lief of looking at the universe through the
another kind of intellect than those wit
habitually held converse. It waa as if a ^
thrown open, admitting a freer atmosphi
close and stifled study, where his life was w
away, amid lamp-light, or obstructed day
the musty fragrance, be it sensual or moi
hales from books. But the air was too fre
to be long breathed with comfort. So ti
and the physician with him, withdrew agai
limits of what their church defined as orth
Thus Hoger Chillingworth scrutinized

THE SCARLET LETTER.

^h as he saw him in his ordinary life, keep-
omed pathway in the range of thoughts
m, and as he appeared when thrown amidst
scenery, the novelty of which might' call
g new to the surface of his character. He
sential, it would seem, to know the man,
>ting to do him good. Wherever there is a
intellect, the diseases of the physical frame
th the peculiarities of these. In Arthur

thought and imagination were so active,
ty so intense, that the bodily infirmity
:ely to have its ground-work there. So
igworth — the man of skill, the kind and
lician — strove to go deep into his patient's
ag among his principles, prying into his
and probing everything with a cautious

treasure-seeker in a dark cavern. Few
icape an investigator who has opportunity
I undertake such a quest, and skill to follow
u burdened with a secret should especially
imacy of his physician. If the latter pos-
gacity, and a nameless something more, —
intuition; if he show no intrusive ^;otism,
bly prominent characteristics of his own ;
3 power, which must be bom with him, to
id into such affinity with his patient's, that

unawares have spoken what be imagines
to have thought ; if such revelations be
out tumult, and acknowledged not so often

THE LEECH. 165

by an uttered sympathy as by silence, an inarticulate
breath, and here and there a word, to indicate that all
is understood ; if to these qualifications of a confidant
be joined the advantages afforded by his recognized
character as a physician ; — then, af some inevitable mo-
ment, will the soul of the sufferer be dissolved, and flow
forth in a dark but transparent stream, bringing all its
mysteries into the daylight.

Roger Chillingworth possessed all, or most, of the
attributes above enumerated. Nevertheless, time went
on ; a kind of intimacy, as we have said, grew up be-
tween these two cultivated minds, which had as wide a
field as the whole sphere of human thought and study,
to meet upon ; they discussed every topic of ethics and
religion, of public affairs, and private character ; they
talked much, on both sides, of matters that seemed per-
sonal to themselves ; and yet no secret, such as the phy-
sician fancied must exist there, ever stole out of the
minister's consciousness into his companion's ear. The
latter had his suspicions, indeed, that even the nature
of Mr. Dimmesdale's bodily disease had never fairly
been revealed to him. It was a strange reserve I

After a time, at a hint from Roger Chillingworth, the
friends of Mr. Dimmesdale effected an arrangement by
which the two were lodged in the same house ; so that
every ebb and flow of the minister's life-tide might pass
under the eye of his anxious and attached physician.
There was much joy throughout the town, when this
greatly desirable object was attained. It was held to ^

THE SCARLET LETTER.

asible meflBure for the young Glei^man'B
less, indeed, as oilen urged by such as felt
;o do so, he had selected Bome one of the
ling damsels, spiritually devoted to him, to
devoted wife. This latter step, however,
D present prospect that Arthur DimiDeadale
evailed upon to take; he rejected all sug^ies-

kind, as if priestly celibacy were one of his
church-discipline. Doomed by his own
3fore, as Mr. Dim'mesdale bo evidently was,
Qsavory morsel always at another's board,

the life-long chill which must be his lot
) warm himself only at another's fireside, it
1 that this sagacious, experienced, benevo
ysician, with his concord of paternal and
love for the young pastor, was the very man,
cind, to he constantly within reach of his

abode of the two friends was with a pious
lod social rank, who dwelt in a house cover-
early the site on which the venerable struc-
I's Chapel has since been built. It had the
originally Isaac Johnson's home-field, on one
was well adapted to call up serious refieo-

to their respective employments, in both
i man of physic. The motherly care of the

assigned to Mr. Dimmesdale s front apart-
a sunny exposure, and heavy window-cur-
ite a noontide shadow, when desirable. The

THE LEECH. 167

walls were hung round with tapeatry, said to be from the

GobeliD looms, and, at all events, representioj

tural story of David and Bathsheba, and I

Prophet, in colors still unfaded, but which mi

woman of the scene almost as grimly picture

woe-denouncing seer. Here, the pale clerg;

up his library, rich with parchment-bound f

Fathers, and the lore of Rabbis, and monkist

of which the Protestant divines, even while i.

and decried that claae of writers, were yet t

often to avail themselves. On the other

house, old Roger Chillingworth arranged hif

laboratory; not such as a modern manof sci

reckon even tolerably complete, but provided

tilling apparatus, and the means of compoun

and chemicals, which the practised alchemist

how to turn to purpose. With such conimod

situation, these two learned persons sat

down, each in his own domain, yet familia

from one apartment to the other, and bestow

tual and not incurious inspection into oni

business.

And the Reverend Arthur Dimmeadale's b
ing friends, as we have intimated, very reason
ined that the hand of Providence had done ;
the purpose — besought in so many public, am
and secret prayers — of restoring the young
health. But — it must now be stud — anoth
of the community had latterly begun to ts

THE SCARLFT LETTER.

le relation betwixt Mr. Dimmesdale and the
i old physician. When an uninstructed mul-
iinpta to see with its eyes, it is exceedingly apt
ived. When, however, it forms its judgment,
Jly does, on the intuitions of its great and
rt, the conclusions thus attained are often ao
ind BO unerring, as to possess the character of
ernaturally revealed. The people, in the caae
we speak, could justify its prejudice against
iUingworth by no fact or argument worthy of
utation. There was an aged handicraftsman,
fho had been a citizen of London at the period
omas Overbury's murder, now some thirty
le ; he testified to having seen the physician,
le other name, which the narrator of the story
forgotten, in company with Doctor Porraan,
i old conjurer, who was implicated in the affair
iry. Two or three individuals hinted, that
f skill, during his Indian captivity, had en-
medical attainments by joining in the incan-
the savage priests; who were universally ac-
id to be powerful enchanters, often performing
miraculous cures by their skill in the black
rge number — and many of these were persona
ber sense and practical observation that their
rould have been valuable, in other matters —
liat Roger Chillingworth's aspect had undei^
aarkable change while he had dwelt in town,
ially since his abode with Mr. Dimmesdale.

THE LEECH.

At first, his expression had been call
scholar-like. Now, there was Botaething
in his fece, which they had not previous!
which grew still the more obvious to aig!
they looked upon him. According to tb
the fire in hie laboratory had been broi
lower regions, and was fed with infernal
as might be expected, hb visage was gett
the smoke.

To sum up the matter, it grew to be a 1
opinion, that the Reverend Arthur Dii
many other personages of especial eanct
of the Christian world, was haunted ei
himself, or Satan's emissary, in the guise
Chillingworth. This diabolical agent h:
permission, for a season, to burrow into tl
intimacy, and plot against his soul. Sc
it was confessed, could doubt on which si
would turn. The people looked, with an u
to see the minister come forth out of the
figured with the glory which he would n
win. Meanwhile, nevertheless, it was et
the perchance mortal agony through a
struggle towards his triumph.

Alaa! tojudgc from thegloom and tern
of the poor minister's eyes, the battle was
the victory anything but secure.

1

1 LEECH AND HIS PATIENT.

Chillmgworth, throughout life, had been
emperament, kindly, though not of warm
t ever, and in all his relations with the
3 and upright man. He had begun aa

as he imagined, with the severe and
J of a judge, desirous only of truth, even
tion involved no more than the air-drawn
res of a geometrical problem, instead of
ng, and wrongs inflicted on himself. But,
ed, a terrible fascination, a kind of fierce,
aim, necessity seized the old man within

never aet him A%e again, until he had
dding. He now dug into the poor clergy-
ike a miner searching for gold ; or, rather,
delving into a grave, possibly in quest of
iid been buried on the dead man's bosom,

find nothing save mortality and corrup-
br his own soul, if these were what he

a light glimmered out of the physician's
blue and ominous, like the reflection of
, let us say, like one of those gleams of

THE LEECH AND HIS PATIENT. 171

ghastly fire that darted from Bunyan's awfiil door-
way in the hill-side, and quivered on the pilgrim's
face. The soil where this dark miner was working had
perchance shown indications that encouraged him.

" This man," said he, at one such moment, to him-
self, "pure as they deem him, — all spiritual as he
seems, — ^hath inherited a strong animal nature from
his father or his mother. Let us dig a little further in
the direction of this vein I"

Then, after long search into the minister's dim inte-
rior, and turning over many precious materials, in the
shape of high aspirations for the welfare of his race,
warm love of souls, pure sentiments, natural piety,
strengthened by thought and study, and illuminated by
revelation, — all of which invaluable gold was perhaps
no better tharf rubbish to the seeker, — he would turn
back, discouraged, and begin his quest towards another
point. He groped along as stealthily, with as cautious
a tread, and as wary an outlook, as a thief entering a
chamber where a man lies only half asleep, — or, it may
be, broad awake, — with purpose to steal the very treas-
ure which this man guards as the apple of his eye. In
spite of his premeditated carefulness, the floor would
now and then creak ; his garments would rustle ; the
shadow of his presence, in a forbidden proximity, would
be thrown across his victim. In other words, Mr. Dim-
mesdale, whose sensibility of nerve often produced the
effect of spiritual intuition, would become vaguely aware
that something inimical to his peace had thrust itself

THE SCARLET LETTER.

;ioii with him. But old Roger Chill ingwortli,
perceptions that were almost intuitive; and
minister threw hia startled eyes towards him,
physician sat ; hia kind, watchful, sympatliiz-
aever intniaive friend.

r. Dimmesdale would perhapa have seen this
il's character more perfectly, if a certain mor-

which sick hearts are liable, had not ren-
n suspicious of all mankind. Trusting no man
3nd, he could not recognize his enemy when
■ actually appeared. He therefore still kept
iliar intercourse with him, daily receiving the
cian in his study ; or visiting the laboratory
recreation's sake, watching the processes by

2ed3 were con.verted into drugs of potency.
ly, leaning his forehead on his hand, and his

1 the sill of the open window, that looked
the grave-yard, he talked with Roger Chil-
I, while the old man was examining a bundle
itly plants,

re," asked he, with a look askance at them, —
i the clergyman's peculiarity that he seldom,
ya, looked straightforth at any object, whether
: inanimate, — " where, my kind doctor, did you
lOse herbs, with auch a dark, flabby leaf?"
L in the grave-yard here at hand," answered
cian, continuing his employment. " They are
ic. I found them growing on a grave, which
tomb-stone, nor other memorial of Ihe dead

THE LEECH AND HIS PATIENT. 173

•

man, save these ugly weeds, that have taken upon
themselves to keep him in remembrance. They grew
out of his heart, and typify, it may be, some hideous
secret that was buried with him, and which he had
done better to confess during his lifetime."

" Perchance," said Mr. Dimmesdale, " he earnestly
desired it, but could not."

" And wherefore ?" rejoined the physician. " Where-
fore not ; since all the powers of nature call so earnestly
for the confession of sin, that these black weeds have
sprung up out of a buried heart, to make manifest an
unspoken crime?"

" That, good Sir, is but a fantasy of yours," replied
the minister. " There can be, if I forebode aright, no
power, short of the Divine mercy, to disclose, whether
by uttered words, or by type or emblem, the secrets
that may be buried with a human heart. The heart,
making itself guilty of such secrets, must perforce hold
them, until the day when all hidden things shall be
revealed. Nor have I so read or interpreted Holy
Writ, as to understand that the disclosure of human
thoughts and deeds, then to be made, is intended as a
part of the retribution. That, surely, were a shallow
view of it. No ; these revelations, unless I greatly err,
are meant merely to promote the intellectual satisfac-
tion of all intelligent beings, who will stand waiting,
on that day, to see the dark problem of this life made
plain. A knowledge of men's hearts will be needful
to the completest solution of that problem. And I con-

LET LETTEIL

learts holding such miserable
11 yield them up, at that last
but with a joy uuutterable."
I them here?" asked Roger
[uietly aside at the minister,
lilty ones sooner avail them-
! solace?"

the clergyman, griping hard
i with an importunate throb
poor soul hath given its con-
he death-bed, but while strong
ion. And ever, after such an
ief have I witnessed in those
n one who at last draws free
:h his own polluted breath.
? Why should a wretched
, of murder, prefer to keep
L his own heart, rather than
I let the universe take care

their secrets thus," observed

men," answered Mr, Dim-
iggest more obvious reasons,
;pt silent by the very consti-
r, — can we not suppose it? —
staining, nevertheless, a zeal
's welfare, they shrink from
ck and Slthy in the view of

1

THE LEECH AND HIS PATIENT. 175

men ; because, thenceforward, no good can be achieved
by l^em ; no evil of the past be redeemed by better
service. So, to their own unutterable torment, they
go about among their fellow-creatures, looking pure as
new-fallen snow; while their hearts are all speckled
and spotted with iniquity of which they cannot rid )
themselves."

" These men deceive themselves," said Roger Chil-
lingworth, with somewhat more emphasis than usual,
and making a slight gesture with his forefinger.
" They fear to take up the shame that rightfully be-
longs to them. Their love for man, their zeal for God's
service, — these holy impulses may or may not coexist
in their hearts with the evil inmates to which their
guilt has unbarred the door, and which must needs
propagate a hellish breed within them. But, if they
seek to glorify God, let them not lift heavenward their
unclean hands ! If they would serve their fellow-men,
let them do it by making manifest the power and
reality of conscience, in constraining them to peni-
tential self-abasement ! Wouldst thou have me to be-
lieve, O wise and pious friend, that a false show can
be better — can be more for God's glory, or man's wel-
fare — ^than God's own truth? Trust me, such men
deceive themselves!"

" It may be so," said the young clergyman, indiffer-
ently, as waiving a discussion that he considered irrele-
vant or unseasonable. He had a ready faculty, indeed,

of escaping from any topic that agitated his too sensiti^
12

r

SCARLET LETTEB.

frameDt. — " But, now, I would ask
ihysician, whether, in good sooth, he
profited by his kindly care of this
if

llingworth could answer, they heard
;hter of a young child's voice, pro-
adjacent burial-ground. Looking
he open window, — for it was sum-
lister beheld Hester Prynne and

along the foot-path that traversed
irl looked as beautiful as the day,
hose moods of perverse merriment
ey occurred, seemed to remove her
sphere of sympathy or human con-
pped irreverently from one grave to
ng to the broad, flat, armorial tomb-
worthy, — perhaps of Isaac Johnson

to dance upon it. In reply to her
and entreaty that she would behave
;le Pearl paused to gather the prick-
It burdock which grew beside the
andfiil of these, she arranged them
ae scarlet letter that decorated the
I which the burrs, as their nature
lered. Hester did not pluck them

rth had by this time approached the
grimly down,
i DO jaw, Dor reverence for authority, no

THE LEECH AKD HIS PATIENT. 177

regard for human ordinances or opinions, right or
wrong, mixed up with that child's composition," re-
marked he, as much to himself as to his companion.
" I saw her, the other day, bespatter the Governor him-
self with water, at the cattle-trough in Spring-lane.
What, in Heaven's name, is she ? Is the imp altogether
evil ? Hath she affections ? Hath she any discovera-
ble principle of being?"

" None, — save the freedom of a broken law," answered
Mr. Dimmesdale, in a quiet way, ad if he had been dis-
cussing the point within himself. " Whether capable
of good, I know not."

The child probably overheard their voices; for,look^
ing up to the window, with a bright but naughty smile
of mirth and intelligence, she threw one of the prickly
burrs at the Beverend Mr. Dimmesdale. The sensitive
clergyman shrunk, with nervous dread, from the light
missile. Detecting his emotion. Pearl clapped her little
hands, in the most extravagant ecstacy. Hester Prynne,
likewise, had involuntarily looked up ; and all these
four persons, old and young, regarded one another in
silence, till the child laughed aloud, and shouted, —
"Come away, mother! Come away, or yonder old
Black Man will catch you ! He hath got hold of the
minister already. Come away, mother, or he will catch
you 1 But he cannot catch little Pearl !"

So she drew her mother away, skipping, dancing,
and frisking fantastically, among the hillocks of the
dead people, like a creature that had nothing in com-

CARLET LETTER.

nd buried generation, nor own'
t was as if ehe had been made
menta, and must perforce be per-
1 life, and be a law unto herself,
[ties being reckoned to her for a

man," resumed Roger ChilHng-
' who, be her demerits what they
lat mystery of hidden ainfulnesa
rievous to be borne. Is Hester
rable, think you, for that scarlet

re it," answered the clergyman.
lot answer for her. There was a
3, which I would gladly have been
But still, methinks, it must needs
rer to be free to show his pain, as
«r is, than to cover it all up in his

pause ; and the physician began
arrange the plants which he had

ne, a little time agone," said he,
lent as touching your health."
he clergyman, " and would glad-
inkly, I pray you, be it for life or

plainly," said the physician, still
but keeping a wary eye on Mr.

THE LEECH AND HIS PATIENT. 179

^ ■■■■■■■■■■■■ ■ ■ ■ I. ■ I— - ■ ■■», ■■ I I. ■ ■ M ■■ - — ■■■—. — — — ■ .^1. m ■■ — I I I ^

Dimmesdale, "the disorder is a strange one; not so
much in itself, nor as outwardly manifested, — in so far,
at least, as the symptoms have been laid open to my
observation. Looking daily at you, my good Sir, and
watching the tokens of your aspect, now for months
gone by, I should deem you a man sore sick, it may be,
yet not so sick but that an instructed and watch:^! phy«
sician might well hope to cure you. But — I know not
what to say — the disease is what I seem to know, yet
know it not."

" You speak in riddles, learned Sir," said the pale
minister, glancing aside out of the window.

" Then, to speak more plainly," continued the phy-
sician, " and I crave pardon. Sir, — should it seem to re-
quire pardon, — ^for this needful plainness of my speech.
Let me ask, — as your friend, — ^as one having charge,
under Providence, of your life and physical well-being,
— ^hath all the operation of this disorder been fairly laid
open and recounted to me ?"

"How can you question it?" asked the minister.
" Surely, it were child's play to call in a physician, and
then hide the sore !"

" You would tell me, then, that I know all ?" said
Eoger Chillingworth, deliberately, and fixing an eye,
bright with intense and concentrated intelligence, on
the minister's face. " Be it so I But, again ! He to
whom only the outward and physical evil is laid open,
knoweth, oftentimes, but half the evil which he is called
upon to cure. A bodily disease, which we look upor

iBLET I,ETTER.

lin itself, may, after all, be
lent iu the spiritual part, '^
od Sir, if my speecli give the
u. Sir, of all men whom I have
dy is the closest coDJoined, and
, BO to speak, with the spirit
ncDt."

1 further," stud the clergyman,
; from his chair. "You deal
nne for the soul 1"
mtinued Roger Chilling worth,
red tone, without heeding the
ling up, and confronting the
leeked minister, with his low,
jre, — " a eickness, a sore place,
your spirit, hath immediately
tation in your bodily frame,
that your physician heal the
r this be, unless you first lay
I or trouble In your soul?"
-not to an earthly physician !"
passionately, and turning his
i with a kind of fierceness, on
. " Not to thee ! But, if it be
io I commit myself to the one
He, if it stand with his good
e can kill! Let him do with
d wisdom, he shall see good.
"■jt wno art tHou, tbat meddlest in this matter? —

THE LEECH AND HIS PATIENT. 181

Pi« ■■ ■ ■—■-—- — — .1 I ■ — ^» -■ - ■ ^ ■ . , I ■ ■.■ — 4.— -■ — - - - 1,1.^^ — .I... MM ■

that dares thrust himself between the sufferer and his

God r

With a frantic gesture, he rushed out of the room.

" It is as well to have made this step," said Roger
Chillingworth to himself, looking after the minister,
with a grave smile. " There is nothing lost. We shall
be friends again anon. But see, now, how passion takes
hold upon this man, and hurrieth him out of himself I
As with one passion, so with another I He hath done
a wild thing ere now, this pious Master Dimmesdale,
in the hot passion of his heart !"

It proved not difficult to reestablish the intimacy of
the two companions, on the same footing and in the
same degree as heretofore. The young clergyman,
after a few hours of privacy, was sensible that the dis-
order of his nerves had hurried him into an unseemly
outbreak of temper, which there had been nothing in
the physician's words to excuse or palliate. He mar-
velled, indeed, at the violence with which he had thrust
back the kind old man, when merely proffering the
advice which it was his duty to bestow, and which the
minister himself had expressly sought. With these re-
morseful feelings, he lost no time in making the amplest
apologies, and besought his friend still to continue the
care, which, if not successful in restoring him to health,
had, in all probability, been the means of prolonging
his feeble existence to that hour. Roger Chillingworth
readily assented, and went on with his medical super-
vision of the minister ; doing his best for him, in b^^

the patient's apartment,
terview, with a mysteri-
B lipa. This expression
ale's presence, but grew
^n crossed the threehold.
i, " I must Deeds look
ipathy betwixt soul and
irt's sake, I must search

!ter the scene above re-
r. Dimmeedale, at noon-
[ into a deep, deep slum-
arge black-letter volume
t must have beea a work
>us school of literature,
inister's repose was the
he was one of those per-
Bs light, as fitful, and as
l)ird hopping on a twig,
ness, however, had his
f, that he stirred not in
Ilingworth, without any
le into the room. The
front of his patient, imd
irust aside the vestment,
ed it even from the pro-
le shuddered, and slights

THE LEECH AND HIS PATIENT.

After a brief pause, the physician tunied a^
But with what a wild look of wonder, ,
horror! With what a ghastly rapture, as it '
mighty to be expressed only by the eye and
and therefore bursting forth through the whole
of his figure, and making itself even riotously
by the extravagant gestures with which he thrt
arms towards the ceiling, and stamped his foot
floor ! Had a man seen old Roger Chillingi
that moment of his ecstacy, he would have
need to ask how Satan comports himself; wfae
ciouB human soul is lost to heaven, and won
kingdom.

But what distinguished the physician's ecati
Satan's was the trait of wonder in it I

[>R OF A HEART.

ast described, the intercourse
lan and the physician, though
8 really of another character
been. The intellect of Eoger
I sufficiently plain path before
ecisely that which he had laid
Calm, gentle, passionless, as
yet, we fear, a quiet depth of
ut active now, in this unfortu-
lim to imagine a more intimate
1 bad ever wreaked upon an
ilf the one trusted friend, to
1 all the fear, the remorEe, the
tpentance, the backward rush
led in vain ! All that guilty
fforld, whose great heart would
D, to be revealed to him, the
rgiving ! AU that dark treas-
= very man, to whom nothing
pay the debt of vengeance 1
id sensitive reserve had balked
illingworth, however, was in-

THE INTERIOR OF A HEART.

clined to be hardly, if at all, leaa satisfied
pect of affairs, which Providence — using
and his victim for its own purpoaes, and, pei
doning, where it seemed most to punish — ^ha
for bis black devices. A revelation, he couli
had been granted to bins. It mattered littl
ject, whether celestial, or from what other
its aid, in all the subsequent relations betn
Mr. Dimmesdale, not merely the external ]
the very inmost soul, of the latt«r, seemed t'
out before his eyes, so that he could see and
its every movement. He became, thenc<
spectator only, but a chief actor, in the poi
interior world. He could play upon him
Would he arouse him with a throb of ^;on;
tim was forever on the rack ; it needed only
spring that controlled the engine ; — and tl
knew it well ! Would he startle him with i
As at the waving of a magician's wand, up
phantom, — uprose a thousand phantoms
shapes, of death, or more awful shame, all flo
about the clergyman, and pointing with the
his breast !

All this was accomplished with a subtlet
that the minister, though he had constantl;
ception of some evil influence watching ove
never gain a knowledge of its actual natur
looked doubtfully, fearfully, — even, at timi
ror and the bitterness of hatred, — at the deft

E SCARLET LETTER.

n. His geBtures, his gait, his grizzled
t and most iudifierent acts, the very
aeDts, were odious in the clergyman's
iplicitly to he relied on, of a deeper
ireast of the latt«r than he was will-
^ to himself. For, as it was impos-
laon for such distrust and abhorrence,
le, conscious that the poieon of one
nfecting his heart's entire substance,
jresentimente to no other cause. He
k for his bad sympathies in reference
yorth, disregarded the lesson that he
1 from them, and did his best to root
i to accomplish this, he nevertheless,
iciple, continued his habits of social
le old man, and thus gave him cod-
I for perfecting the purpose to which
ature that he was, and more wretched
he avenger had devoted himself.
ring underbodily disease, and gnawed
neblacktrouhleof the soul, and given
inations of his deadliest enemy, the
tnmeedale had achieved a brUIiaut
iacred office. He won it, indeed, in
sorrows. His intellectual giita, his
his power of experiencing and com-
)n, were kept in a stat« of preter-
it the prick and anguish of his daily
liough fitili on ite upward elope, al-

THE INTEEIOH OP A HEART.

ready overshadowed the soberer reputations c
low-clei^men, eminent as several of them wer
were scholars among them, who bad spent m
in acquiring abstruse lore, connected with tl
profession, than Mr. Dimmesdale had lived ;
might well, therefore, be more profoundly ■
8uch solid and valuable attainments than tbt
ful brother. There were men, too, of a sturdie
of mind than his, and endowed with a fai
share of shreivd, hard, iron, or granite unden
which, duly mingled with a fair proportion of
ingredient, constitutes a highly respectable, el
and unamiable variety of the clerical species
were others, again, true saintly fathers, whose
had been elaborated by weary toil among th(
and by patient thought, and etherealized, mor
spiritual communications with the better wt
which their purity of life had almost introdu
holy personages, with their garments of mort
clinging to them. All tliat they lacked was
that descended upon the chosen disciples at I
in tongues of flame ; symbolizing, it would i
the power of speech in foreign and unknown It
but that of addressing the whole human brc
in the heart's native language. These fathe
wise so apostolic, lacked Heaven's last and
testation of their office, the Tongue of Flam
trould have vainly sought — had they ever dn
seeking — to express the highest truths thn

3 BCAHLBT LETTEH.

if familiar words and images. T
afar and indistinctly, from the up-
they habitually dwelt.
, it was to thia latter class of men
ale, by many of his traits of charao-
Qged. To the high mouDtain-peake
ty he would have climbed, had not
thwarted by the burden, whatever it
or anguish, beneath which it was his
kept him down, on a level with the
man of ethereal attributes, whose
light else have listened to and an-
very burden it was, that gave him
late with the sinful brotherhood of
his heart vibrated in unison with
1 their pain into itself, and sent its
through a thousand other hearts, in
uaaive eloquence. OAenest persua-
i terrible ! The people knew not the
them thus. They deemed the yonng
e of holiness. They fancied him the
aven's mess^es of wisdom, and ra-
their eyes, the very ground on which
ied. The virgins of his church grew
'ictims of a passion so imbued with
that they imagined it to be all re-
; it openly, in their white bosoms, as
)Ie sacrifice before the altar. The
a flock, beholding Mr. Dimmesdale's

THE INTERIOR OF A HEART. 189

frame so feeble, while they were themselves so rugged
ill their infirmity, believed that he would go heaven-
ward before them, and enjoined it upon their children,
that their old bones should be buried close to their
young pastor's holy grave. And, all this time, per-
chance, when poor Mr. Dimmesdale was thinking of
his grave, he questioned with himself whether the grass
would ever grow on it, because an accursed thing must
there be buried !

It is inconceivable, the agony with which this public
veneration tortured him I It was his genuine impulse
to adore the truth, and to reckon all things shadow-
like, and utterly devoid of weight or value, that had
not its divine essence as the life within their life.
Then, what was he ? — a substance ? — or the dimmest
of all shadows ? He longed to speak out from his own
pulpit, at the full height of his voice, and tell the people
what he was. "I, whom you behold in these black
garments of the priesthood, — I, who ascend the sacred
desk, and turn my pale face heavenward, taking upon
myself to hold communion, in your behalf, with the
Most High Omniscience, — ^I, in whose daily life you
discern the sanctity of Enoch, — I, whose footsteps, as
you suppose, leave a gleam along my earthly track,
whereby the pilgrims that shall come after me may
be guided to the regions of the blest, — I, who have laid
the hand of baptism upon your children, — I, who have
breathed the parting prayer over your dying friends,
to whom the Amen sounded faintly from a world which

1

190 THE SCAHLET LETTER.

they had quitted, — ^I, your pastor, whom you so reveiv
ence and trust, am utterly a pollution and a lie !"

More, than once, Mr. Dimmesdale had gone into the
pulpit, with a purpose never to come down its steps,
until he should have spoken words like the above.
More than once, he had cleared his throat, and drawn
in the long, deep, and tremulous breath, which, when
sent forth again, would come burdened with the black
secret of his soul. More than once — nay, more than
a hundred times — he had actually spoken ! Spoken I
But how ? He had told his hearers that he was alto-
gether vile, a viler companion of the vilest, the worst
of sinners, an abomination, a thing of unimaginable
iniquity ; and that the only wonder was, that they did
not see his wretched body shrivelled up before their
eyes, by the burning wrath of the Almighty ! Could
there be plainer speech than this? Would not the
people start up in their seats, by a simultaneous im-
pulse, and tear him down out of the pulpit which he
defiled ? Not so, indeed I They heard it all, and did
but reverence him the more. They little guessed
what deadly purport lurked in those self-condemning
words. " The godly youth !" said they among them-
selves. "The saint on earth! Alas, if he discern
such sinfulness in his own white soul, what horrid
spectacle would he behold in thine or mine!" The
minister well knew — subtle, but remorseful hypocrite
that he was I — ^the light in which his vague confession
RTOuld be viewed. He had striven to put a cheat upon

^ I

THE INTEKIOR OP A HEABT.

himself by making the avowal of a guilty coi
but had gained only one other ain, and a
kuowledged shame, without the momentary i
being self-deceived. He had spoken the ver
and transformed it into the veriest falaehoot
yet, by the couBtitutioa of his nature, he Ic
truth, and loathed the lie, as few men ei
Therefore, above all things else, he loathed h
able self!

His inward trouble drove him to practices
accordance with the old, corrupted faith of Roi
with the better light of the church in which he 1:
born and bred. In Mr. Dimmesdale's secre
under lock and key, there was a bloody scourge,
times, this Protestant and Puritan divine had
on his own shoulders ; laughing bitterly at bin
while, and smiting so much the more pitilessly
of that bitter laugh. It was his custom, too, s
been that of many other pious Puritans, to fai
however, like them, in order to purify the b
render it the fitter medium of celeBtial illuminat
rigorously, and until his knees trembled benea
as an act of penance. He kept vigils, likewis
after night, sometimes in utter darkness ; sometii
a glimmering lamp ; and sometimes, viewing
face in a looking-glass, by the most powerful ligl
he could throw upon it. He thus typified the <
introspection wherewith he tortured, but coi
purify, himself. In these lengthened vigils, h:

THE SCARLET LETTER.

and vieioDS seemed to flit before hitn ; per-
ubtfully, and by a faint light of their own,
e dimness of the chamber, or more vividly,
side him, within the looking-glass, Now it
f diabolic shapes, that grinned and moclied
lini^er, and beckoned him away with them ;
< of shining angels, who flew upward heav-
r-laden, but grew more ethereal as they rose,
he dead &Iends of his youth, and hia wbite-
ler, with a saint-like frown, and his mother,
face away ae she passed by. Ghost of a
inneet fantasy of a mother, — methinks she
ve thrown a pity ing glance towards her son !
]rough the chamber which these spectral
d made bo ghastly, glided Hester Prynne,
g little Pearl, in her scarlet garb, and point-
nger, first at the scarlet letter on her bosom,
the clei^y man's own breast,
lese visions ever quite deluded him. At any
an effort of his will, he could discern sub-
igh their misty lack of substance, and con-
f that they were not solid in their nature,
table of carved oak, or that big, square,
nd and brazen -clasped volume of divinity,
^hat, they were, in one sense, the truest and
itial things which the poor minister now
It is the unspeakable misery of a life so
:hat it steals the pith and substance out of
whatever realities there are around us, and which were

THE INTEBIOE OP A HEABT.

meant by Heaven to be the spirit's joy and ni:
To the untrue man, the whole universe is fale
impalpable, — it shrinkg to nothing within hi
And he himself, in so far as he shows himself 1
light, becomes a shadow, or, indeed, ceases to ex
only truth that continued to give Mr. Dimmeedi
existence on this earth, waa the anguish in hi
soul, and the undissembled expression of it in h
Had he once found power to smile, and wear f
gayety, there would have been no such man !
On one of those ugly nights, which we hav
hinted at, but forborne to picture forth, the
started from his chair. A new thought had stri
There might be a moment's peace in it. Attii
self with as much care as if it had been for pu
ship, and precisely in the same manner, he st<
down the staircase^ undid the door, and issued

ITER'S VIGIL.

ow of a dream, aa It were, and
ler the influence of a species
tnmesdale reached the spot,
, Hester Prynne bad lived
public ignominy. The same
and weather-stained with the
1 long years, and foot-worn,
any culprits who had since
.nding beneath the balcony
e minister went up the steps,
of early May. An unvaried
whole expanse of sky from
eame multitude which had
le Hester Prynne sustained
' have been summoned forth,
no face above the platform,
a human shape, in the dark
ut the town was all asleep,
;overy. The minister might
] him, until morning should
ruu other risk than that the dank

THE minister's VIGIL. 195

and chill night-air would creep into his frame, and stiffen
his joints with rheumatism, and clog his throat with
catarrh and cough ; thereby defrauding the expectant
audience of to-morrow's prayer and sermon. No eye
could see him, save that ever-wakefiil one which had
seen him in his closet, Wielding the bloody scourge.
Why, then, had he come hither? Was it but the
mockery of penitence? A mockery, indeed, but in
which his soul trifled with itself I A mockery at which
angels blushed and wept, while fiends rejoiced, with
jeering laughter I He had been driven hither by the
impulse of that Remorse which dogged him every-
where, and whose own sister and closely linked com-
panion was that Cowardice which invariably drew
him back, with her tremulous gripe, just when the
other impulse had hurried him to the verge of a dis-
closure. Poor, miserable man! what right had in-
firmity like his to burden itself with crime ? Crime is
for the iron-nerved, who have their choice either to
endure it, or, if it press too hard, to exert their fierce
and savage strength for a good purpose, and fling it off
at once ! This feeble and most sensitive of spirits could
do neither, yet continually did one thing or another,
which intertwined, in the same inextricable knot, the
agony of heaven-defying guilt and vain repentance.

And thus, whUe standing on the scaffold, in this vain
show of expiation, Mr. Dimmesdale was overcome with
a great horror of mind, as if the universe were gazing
at a scarlet token on his naked breast, right over h'

THE SCARLET LETTEK.

that Bpot, in very truth, there was, and
ig been, the gnawing and poisonous tooth
Eiin. Without any effort of his will, or
train himself, he shrieked aloud ; au out-
nt pealing through the night, and was
from one house to another, and reverber-
e bills in the background ; as if a com-
Is, detecting bo much mieery and terror in
a plaything of the sound, and were bandy-
fro.

ne!" muttered the minister, covering his
is hands. "The whole town will awake,
brtb, and find me here !"
i not BO. The shriek had perhaps sounded
reater power, to his own startled ears, than
osseesed. The t«wn did not awake ; or, if
Irowsy slumberers miatook the cry either
g frightful in a dream, or for the noise of
ose voices, at that period, were often heard
the settlements or lonely cottages, as they
5atan through the air. The clergyman,
paring no symptoms of disturbance, un-
eyes and looked about him. At one of
^windows of Governor Bellingham's man-
jtood at Bome distance, on the line of an-
he beheld the appearance of the old magis-
r, with a lamp in his hand, a white night-
ead, and a long white gown enveloping his
looked like a ghost, evoked unseasonably

THE MINISTER'S VIGIL.

from the grave. The cry had evidently
At another wiudow of the same house,
peared old Mistress Hihhios, the GoTem
with a lamp, which, even thus far off
expression of her sour and discontent
thrust forth her head from the lattice
anxiouslj upward. Beyond the shado'
this venerable witch-lady had heard
dale's outcry, and interpreted it, with ite
echoes and reverberations, as the clamoi
and night-hags, with whom she was b
make excursions into the forest.

Detecting the gleam of Governor Bellii
the old lady quickly extinguished her >
ished. Foesibly, she went up among the
minister saw nothing further of her i
magistrate, after a wary observation oft
into which, nevertheless, he could see bu
than he might into a mill-stone — reti
window.

The minister grew comparatively cal
however, were soon greeted by a littl
light, which, at first a long way off, wai
up the street. It threw a gleam of recog
a post, and there a garden-fence, and fa
window-pane, and there a pump, with ii
of water, and here, ^ain, an arched doo:
an iron knocker, and a rough log for
The Bevereud Mr. Dimmesdale noted all

THE SCARLET LETTER.

;ven while firmly conviDced that the doom
Qce waB Btealing onward, in the footsteps
n heard ; and that the gleam of the Ian-
all upon him, in a few moments more, and
ig-hidden secret. A^ the light drew nearer,
irithin its illunuDated circle, hie brother
-or, to speak more accurately, hia pro-
ler, as well as highly valued friend, — the
J. Wilson ; who, as Mr. Dimmeedale now
had been praying at the bedside of some

And BO be had. The good old minister
from the death-chamber of Governor Win-
lad passed from earth to heaven within
ur. And now, surrounded, like the saiut-
^ of olden times, with a radiant halo, that

amid this gloomy night of sin, — as if the
vemor bad left him an inheritance of hie
f be had caught upon himself the distant
celestial city, while looking thitherward to
iphant pilgrim pass within its gates, — now,
d Father Wilson was moving homeward,
Qteteps with a lighted Untem I The glim-
luminary su^eeted the above conceits to
iale, who smiled, — nay, almost laughed at
iten wondered if he were going mad.
verend Mr. Wilson passed beeide the sca&
muffling his Geneva cloak about him with

holding the lantern before hie breast with

THE minister's VIGIL. 199

the other, the minister could hardly restrain himself
from speaking.

" A good evening to you, venerable Father Wilson I
Come up hither, 1 pray you, and pass a pleasant hour
with me I"

Good heavens ! Had Mr. Dimmesdale actually spoken ?
For one instant, he believed that these words had passed
his lips. But they were uttered only within hb imagina-
tion. The venerable Father Wilson continued to step
slowly onward, looking carefully at the muddy path-
way before his feet, and never once turning his head
towards the guilty platform. When the light of the
glimmering lantern had faded quite away, the minister
discovered, by the faintness which came over him, that
the last few moments had been a crisis of terrible anx-
iety ; although his mind had made an involuntary effort
to relieve itself by a kind of lurid playfiilness.

Shortly afterwards, the like grisly sense of the humor-
ous again stole in among the solemn phantoms of his
thought. He felt his limbs growing stiff with the unac-
customed chilliness of the night, and doubted whether
he should be able to descend the steps of the scaffold.
Morning would break, and find him there. The neigh-
borhood would begin to rouse itself. The earliest riser,
coming forth in the dim twilight, would perceive a
vaguely defined figure aloft on the place of shame;
and, half crazed betwixt alarm and curiosity, would
go, knocking from door to door, summoning all the
people to behold the ghost — as he needs must think i*

THE BCABLBT LETT&B.

Funct trausgreseor. A dusky tumult wou]
. from one house to another. Then — tl
it still waxing stronger — old patriarcl
I in great haste, each in his flannel gowi
r dames, without pausing to put off the:
The whole tribe of decorous personage
;r heretofore been seen with a single ha
J awry, would start into public view, wit
jf a nightmare in their aspects. Old Go"
;ham would come grimly forth, with h

ruff iafitened askew ; and Mistress Hi!
inae twigs of the forest clinging to hf
oking sourer than ever, as having hard!
>f sleep after her night ride ; and goo
in, too, after spending half the night at
id liking ill to be disturbed, thus ^arl;
3ams about the glorified saints. Hitbe
lid come the elders and deacons of M
) church, and the young vir^ns who (

minister, and had made a shrine for hii
1 bosoms ; which now, by the by, in the
mfusion, they would scantly have give
me to cover with their kerchiefe. A
word, would come stiimbling over the:
id turning up their amazed and horro:
ges around the scaffold. Whom woul
ihere, with the red eastern light upon h
D, but the Reverend Arthur Dimmesdali

THE MINISTER'S VIGII^.

half frozen to death, overwhelmed with si
standing where Hester Prynne had stood I

Carried away by the grotesque horror of tfc
the minister, unawares, and to his own infii
burst into a great peal of laughter. It was in
responded to by a light, airy, childish laugh
with a thrill of the heart, — but he knew not i
exquisite pain, or pleasure aa acute, — he reco
tones of little Pearl.

" Pearl ! Little Pearl !" cried he, after a
pause ; then, suppressing his voice, — " Heete:
Prynne ! Are you there ?"

" Yes ; it is Hester Prynne !" she replied, i:
surprise ; and the minister heard her footsteps
ing from the sidewalk, along which she had
ing. " It is I, and my little Pearl,"

"Whence come you, Hester?" asked thi
"What sent you hither?"

" I have been watching at a death-bed,'
Hester Prynne ; — " at Governor Winthrop's
and have taken his measure for a robe, and t
ing homeward to my dwelling."

" Come up hither, Hester, thou and little I
the Eeverend Mr. Dimmesdale. " Ye have
here before, but I was not with you. Come
once again, and we will stand all three toget

She silently ascended the steps, and stood o
form, holding little Pearl by the hand. Tl
felt for the child's other hand, and took it. Tl

IA.BLET LETTEK.

came what seemed a tumultuous
life than hia own, pouring like a
ud hurrying through all his veins,
the child were communicatiiig
is half-torpid system. The three
in.

red little PearL
)u Bay, child V asked Mr, Dim-

ere vith mother and me, to-mor-
ed Pearl.

ittle Pearl," answered the minis*
ir energy of the moment, all the
iure, that had so long been the
[.returned upon him ; and he was
he conjunction in which — with a
ss — he now found himself. " Not
, indeed, stand wiUi thy mother
Y, but not to-morrow."
ittempted to puU away her hand,
it last.

my child !" said he.
nise," asked Pearl, " to take my
ud, to-morrow noontide ?"

said the minister, " but another

me V persisted the child.

ment day," whispered the minis-

nough, the sense that he was a

THE minister's VIGIL. 203

profeesional teacher of the truth impelled him to answer

the child bo. " Then, and there, before th

Beat, thy mother, and thou, and I, must etai

But the daylight of thia world shall not se

ing!"

Pearl laughed E^in.

But, before Mr. Dimmesdale had done
light gleamed far and wide over all the muf
vaa doubtless caused by one of those mel
the night-watcher may so often observe bui
waste, in the vacant regions of the atmo
poweriul was its radiance that it thoroughly
the dense medium of cloud betwixt the skj
The great vault brightened, like the dom
menae lamp. It showed the familiar scene <
with the distinctness of mid-day, but also wit
ness that is always Imparted to &miliar ob
unaccustomed light. The wooden houses, wii
ting stories and quaint gable-peaks ; the do
thresholds, with the early grass springing up i
the garden-plots, black with freshly turned
wheel-track, little worn, and, even in the mi
margined with green on either side ; — all v
but with a singularity of aspect that seen
another moral interpretation to the things o:
than they had ever borne before. And thei
minister, with his hand over his heart; i
Frynne, with the embroidered letter glimme
bosom ; and little Pearl, herself a symbol, ai

THE SCARLET LETTEH.

: between those two. They stood in the nooD
.nge and solemn splendor, as if it were the
to reveal all Becrets, and the daybreak that
ill who belong to one another.
i witchcraft in little Pearl's eyes ; and her
glanced upward at the minister, wore that
Qe which made its expression frequently so
withdrew her hand from Mr, Dimmesdale's,
I across the street. But he clasped both
iver his breast, and cast his eyes towards

was more common, m those days, than to
1 meteoric appearances, and other natural
that occurred with less regularity than the

of sun and moon, as so many revelations
matural source. Thus, a blazing spear, a
me, a bow, or a sheaf of arrows, seen in the
;y, prefigured Indian warfare. Pestilence

to have been foreboded by a shower of
it. We doubt whether any marked event,

evil, ever befell New England, from its
own to Revolutionary times, of which the
had not been previously warned by some
this nature. Not seldom, it had been seen
es. Oftener, however, its credibility rested
of some lonely eye-witness, who beheld the
lugh the colored, magnifying, and distort-

of his imagination, and shaped it more

his after-thought. It was, indeed, a mar

THE minister's VIGIL.. 205

jestic idea, that the destiny of Dations should be re-
vealed, in these awftal hieroglyphics, o
heaven, A scroll so wide might not
expansive for Providence to write a
upon. The belief was a favorite one
fathers, as betokening that their infant
was under a celestial guardianship of pei
and strictness. But what shall we say,
vidua! discovers a revelation, addressi
alone, on the same vast sheet of recor
case, it could only be the symptom of
ordered mental state, when a man, rent
self-contemplative by long, intense, an
had extended his egotism over the whi
nature, until the firmament itself shoi
more than a fitting page for his soul
late I

We impute it, therefore, solely to the
own eye and heart, that the minister, 1<
to the zenith, beheld there the appears
mense letter, — the letter A,— marked i
dull red light. Not but the meteor mt
itself at that point, burning duskily thr
cloud ; but with no such shape as his g
tion gave it; or, at least, with so little d«
another's guilt might have seen another

There was a singular circumstance thai
Mr. Dimmesdale's psychological state, a
AU the time that he gazed upward to

BE SCARLET LETTER.

I, perfectly aware that little Pearl waB
ger towards old Roger Chilli ngworth,
great distance from the scaffold. The
i to see him, with the same glance that
raculous letter. To his features, as to
the meteoric light imparted a new ex-
light well be that the physician was

as at all other times, to hide the ma-
hich he looked upon hie victim. Cer-
teor kindled up the sky, and disclosed
in awfulnese that admonished Hester

clergyman of the day of judgment,
r CJhilli ngworth have passed with them
, Btanding there with a smile and scowl,
80 vivid was the expression, or so
ster's perception of it, that it seemed
iinted on the darkness, after the me-
NJ, with an effect as if the street and
rere at once annihilated,
lan, Hester?" gasped Mr. Dimmeedale,
Tror, " I shiver at him I Doat thou

I hate him, Hester!"
id her oath, and was silent.
y soul shivers at him !" muttered the
' Who is he ? Who is he ? Canst thou
le ? I have a nameless horror of the

id little Pearl, " I can tell thee who he

THE minister's VIGIL. 207

■i— ^i^^^^^M^i^w^^^— ^»^^^»^^w^..^^— ■■■■— ^— ^^ mm Mill ■ ■ H I ■ ■ II— i»»i— — — — — ^^^Mii^w^^i^»^i^»^—^^ ■ ^

" Quickly, then, child !" said the minister, bending
his ear close to her lips. " Quickly ! — ^and as low as
thou canst whisper."

Pearl mumbled something into his ear, that sounded,
indeed, like human language, but was only such gibber-;
ish as children may be heard amusing themselves with,
by the hour together. At all events, if it involved any
secret information in regard to old Roger Cbillingworth,
it was in a tongue unknown to the erudite clergyman,
and did but increase the bewilderment of his mind.
The elvish child then laughed aloud.

" Dost thou mock me now ?" said the minister,

"Thou wast not bold! — ^thou wast not true!" —
answered the child. "Thou wouldst not promise to
take my hand, and mother's hand, to-morrow noon-
tide !"

" Worthy Sir," answered the physician, who had now
advanced to the foot of the platform. " Pious Master
Bimmesdale! can this be you? Well, well, indeed!
We men of study, whose heads are in our books, have
need to be straitly looked after! We dream in our
waking moments, and walk in our sleep. Come, good
Sir, and my dear &iend, I pray you, let me lead you
home !"

"How knewest thou that I was here?" asked the
minister, fearfully.

" Verily, and in good faith," answered Roger Cbil-
lingworth, "I knew nothing of the matter. I had spent
the better part of the night at the bedside of the wo
14

THE 8CAELET LETTER.

or Winthrop, doing what my poor ekill
bim ease. He going home to a better
ie, was on my way homeward, when this
one out. Come with me, I beseech you,
else you will be poorly able to do Sab-
jrrow. Aha 1 see now, how they trouble
»e books I — these books 1 You should

Sir, and take a little pastime; or these

will grow upon you."
)me with you," said Mr. Dimmesdale.
1 despondency, like one awaking, all

an ugly dream, he yielded himself to
md was led away.

ay, however, being the Sabbath, he
lourse which was held to be the richest
:ful, and the most replet* with heavenly
had ever proceeded from his lips. Souls,
touls than one, were brought to the truth
of that sermon, and vowed within tbem-
I a holy gratitude towards Mr. Dimmes-
t the long hereafter. But, as he came
, steps, the gray-bearded sexton met him,
ack glove, which the minister recognized

d," said the sexton, "this morning, on
ire evil-doers are set up to public shame,
it there, I take it, intending a scurrilous
iir icTereDce. But, indeed, he was blind

THE minister's VIGIL. 209

and foolish, aa he ever and always is. A pure hand
needs no glove to cover it !"

"Thank you, my good friend," sai<
gravely, but Btartled at heart ; for, so c
remembrance, that he had almost broi
look at the events of the past night as vi
it aeeras to be my glove, indeed !"

" And, since Satan saw fit to steal it,
must needs handle him without gloves,
remarked the old sexton, grimly smili
your reverence hear of the portent thi
night? — a great red letter in the sky,
which we interpret to stand for Ange
good Governor Winthrop was made an
night, it was doubtless held fit that t
some notice thereof I"

" No," answered the minister, " I faai

!R VTEW OF HESTER,

ar interview with Mr. Dimmesdal
rasshoclced at the condition to wbi(
;jinan reduced. His nerve BeenK
i. Hie moral force was abased in
weakness. It grovelled helpless t
lile hia intellectual faculttee retainc
^h, or had perhaps acquired a mo
liseaee only could have given thet
:e of a train of circumstances hiddi
could readily infer that, besides t1
' bis own conscience, a terrible m
rought to bear, and was still opera
dale's well-being and repose, Kno'
[alien man had once been, her who
the shuddering terror with which 1
r, — the outcast woman, — for suppo
rely discovered enemy. She decide
lad a right to her utmost ^d. Litt
long seclusion from society, to mea
;ht and wrong by any standard e
leeter saw — or seemed to see— thi
ibility upon her, in reference to tl

ANOTHER VIEW OF HESTER.

clergyman, which she owed to no other, nor I
world besides. The links that united her
of human kind— linka of flowers, or silk,
whatever the material — had all been broken
the iron link of mutual crime, which neithe
could break. Like all other ties, it brought
it its obligations.

Hester Prynoe did not now occupy p:
same position in which we beheld her durinj
periods of her ignominy. Years had com
Pearl was now seven years old. Her moth
scarlet letter on her breast, glittering in i
embroidery, had long been a familiar ol
townspeople. As is apt to be the case wb
stands out in any prominence before the
and, at the same time, interferes neither
nor individual interests and convenience, s
general regard had ultimately grown up
to Hester Prynne. It is to the credit of hui
that, except where its selfishness is bruugb
it loves more readily than it hatea. Hatrec
ual and quiet process, will even be transfer
unless the change be impeded by a conti
irritation of the ori^nal feeling of hostilil
matter of Hester Prynne, there was neitht
nor irksomeness. She never battled with
but submitted, uncomplainingly, to its w
she made no claim upon it, in requital f
suffered; she did not weigh upon its

SCARLET LETTER.

lelees purity of her life during all
I she had been set apart to infamy
y in her favor. With nothing now
of mankind, and with no hope, and
>f gaining anything, it could only

for virtue that bad brought back
o its paths.

, too, that while Hester never put
imblest title to share in the world's

than to breathe the common air,
d for little Pearl and herself by the

hands, — she was quick to acknow-
i with the race of man, whenever
inferred. None so ready as she to
stance to every demand of poverty ;
tter-hearted pauper threw back a

the food brought regularly to his
ts wrought for him by the fingers
sroidered a monarch's robe. None

Hester, when pestilence stalked

In all seasons of calamity, indeed,
jf individuals, the outcast of society
lace. She came, not as a guest, but
:, into the household that was dark-
: if its gloomy twilight were a me-
ras entitled to hold intercourse with
There glimmered the embroidered

in its unearthly ray. Elsewhere
was the taper of the sick-chamber.

ANOTHER VIEW OP HESTER. 213

It had even thrown its gleam, in the sufferer's hard ex-
tremity, across the verge of time. It had shown him
where to set his foot, while the light of earth was fast
becoming dim, and ere the light of futurit
him. In such emergencies, Hester's ni
iteelf warm and rich ; a well-sprlug of h
neeg, unfailing to every real demand, and
by the largest. Her breast, with its bad
was but the softer pillow for the head ths
She was self-ordained a Sister of Mercy
rather say, the world's heavy hand had
her, when neither the world nor she look
this result. The letter was the symbol o
Such helpfulncBH was found in her, — so
to do, and power to sympathize, — that
refused to interpret the scarlet A by iti
nification. They said that it meant Ab
was Hester Pryiinc, with a woman's atr
It was only the darkened house that '
her. When sunshine came ^ain, she w
Her shadow had faded across the threehol
fill inmate had departed, without one bac
to gather up the meed fif gratitude, if an
hearts of those whom she had served
Meeting them in the street, she never ra
to receive their greeting. If they wer
accost her, she laid her finger on the scar
passed on. This might be pride, but it w
mility that it produced all the softening

THE 8C4RI/ET UBTTER.

ility on the public mind. The public is
ts temper ; it ia capable of denyiog com-
Then too strenuously demanded as a right ;

frequently it awards more than justice,
peal ia made, ae deepota love to have it
y to ita generosity. Interpreting Heater
ortment 88 an appeal of this nature, so-
lined to show its former victim a more
enance than she cared to be favored with,
I, than she deserved.

I, and the wise and learned men of the
vere longer in acknowledging the infiu-
er's good qualities than the people. The
lich they shared in common with the lat-
fied in themselves by an iron framework
that made it a far tougher labor to expel
by day, nevertheless, their sour and rigid
e relaxing into something which, in the
f years, might grow to be an expression
levolence. Thus it was with the men of
om their eminent position imposed the

of the public morals. Individuals in pri-
nwhile, had quite forgiven Hester Prynne
' ; nay, more, they had begun to look upon
tter aa the token, not of that one sin, for
id borne so long and dreary a penance,
any good deeds since. " Ho you see that
the embroidered badge?" they would say
"It ie our Hester, — the town's own

ANOTHER VIEW OP HESTEEL 215

Hester, — who is so kind to the poor, eo helpful to the
sick, so comfortable to the afflicted !" Tl
the propensity of humaa nature to tell t:
ofitself, when embodied in the person of a
constrain them to whisper the black scan
years. It was none the less a fact, how
the eyes of the very men who spoke thu
letter had the eSect of the cross on a nui
imparted to the wearer a kind of aacr
enabled her to walk securely amid all pei
fallen among thieves, it would have kept
was reported, and believed by many, thi
had drawn his arrow against the badge,
missile struck it, but fell harmless to the
The efiect of the symbol— or, rather, oi
in respect to society that was indicated I
mind of Hester Prynne herself, was powei
liar. All the light and graceful folii^ of
had been withered up by this red-hot bn
long ago fallen away, leaving a bare and 1
which might have been repulsive, had
friends or companions to be repelled by i
attractiveness of her person had underg
change. It might be partly owing to thi
tcrjty of her dress, and partly to the lack
tiou in her manners. It was a sad transfi
that her rich and luxuriant hair had eithe
or was so completely hidden by a cap, th
ing lock of it ever once gushed into the

THE SCARLET LETTER.

n part to all these causes, but still more to

else, that there seemed to be no longer any-
tester's face for Love to dwell upon ; nothing
B form, though majestic and Btatue-like, that
ould ever dream of clasping in its embrace ;
1 Hester's bosom, to make it ever again the
&ffe«tion. Some attribute had departed from
Tmanence of which had been essential to keep
nan. Such is frequently the fate, and such
development, of the feminine character and
lien the woman has encountered, and lived
in experience of peculiar severity. If she bo
aesB, Bhe will die. If she survive, the tender-
lither be crushed out of her, or — and the out-
blance is the same — crushed so deeply into
that it can never show itself more. The latter
1 the truest theory. She who has once been
id ceased to be so, might at any moment be-
oman again, if there were only the magic

effect the transfiguration. We shall see
Hester Prynne were ever afterwards so
nd 80 transfigured.
f the marble coldness of Hester's impreEsion

attributed to the circumstance, that her life
A, in a great measure, from passion and feel-
mght. Standing alone in the world, — alone,
dependence on society, and with little Pearl
ied and protected, — alone, and hopeless of

her position, even had she not scorned to

ANOTHER VIEW OF HESTER.

consider it desirable, — she cast away the fra^
a broken chain. The world's law was no la'
mind. It was an age in which the human
newly emancipated, had taken a more acti'
wider range than for many centuries before,
the Bword had overthrown nobles and kin
bolder than these had overthrown and reot
not actually, but within the sphere of theo
was their most real abode — the whole system <
prejudice, wherewith was linked much of anc
ciple. Hester Prynne imbibed this spirit.
BUmed a freedom of speculation, then commo
on the other side of the Atlantic, but which
fitthers, had they known it, would have heli
deadlier crime than that stigmatized by tl
letter. In her lonesome cottage, by the
thoughts visited her, such as dared to enter
dwelling in Kew England ; shadowy guests, tl
have been as perilous as demons to their en
could they have been seen so much as knock)
door.

It is remarkable, that persons who spec
most boldly often conform with the most pei
tude to the external regulations of soci<
thought suffices them, without investing itsi
flesh and blood of action. So it seemed t^
Hester. Yet, had little Pearl never come to
the spiritual world, it might have been far <
Then, she might have come down to us ii

LET LETTBE.

lutchinaon, as the fouodresa
night, in one of her phases,
She might, and not improb-
I death from the stem tri-
.ttempting to undermine the
L establishment. But, in the
he mother's enthusiasm of
wreak itself upon. Provi-
is little ^rl, had asdgned to
md blosaom of womanhood,
iped oraid a host of difficult
linst her. The world was
lature had something wrong
itokened that she had been
B of her mother's lawless
led Hester to ask, in bitter-
'eie for ill or good that the
sn bom at all.
[uestion often rose into her
! whole race of womanhond.
pting, even to the happiest
id her own individual eiiat-
ecided in the negative, and
led. A tendency to specu-
ip woman quiet, aa it does
She discerns, it may he,
e her. As a first step, the
to be torn down, and built
nature of the opposite sex.

ANOTHER VIEW OF HESTER. 219

or its long hereditary habit, which has become like
nature, is to be essentially modified, before woman can
be allowed to assume what seems a fair and suitable
position. Finally, all other difficulties being obviated,
woman cannot take advantage of these preliminary
reforms, until she herself shall have undergone a still
mightier change; in which, perhaps, the ethereal
essence, wherein she has her truest life, will be found
to have evaporated. A woman never overcomes
these problems by any exercise of thought. They
are not to be solved, or only in one way. If her
heart chance to come uppermost, they vanish. Thus,
Hester Prynne, whose heart had lost its regular and
healthy throb, wandered without a clew in the dark
labyrinth of mind; now turned aside by an insur-
mountable precipice ; now starting back from a deep
chasm. There was wild and ghastly scenery all around
her, and a home and comfort nowhere. At times, a
fearinl doubt strove to possess her soul, whether it
were not better to send Pearl at once to heaven, and
go herself to such futurity as Eternal Justice should
provide.

The scarlet letter had not done its office.

Now, however, her interview with the Reverend Mr.
Dimmesdale, on the night of his vigil, had given her a
new theme of reflection, and held up to her an object
that appeared worthy of any exertion and sacrifice for
its attainment. She had witnessed the intense misery
beneath which the minister struggled, or, to speak more

220 THE SCARLET LETTER.

accurately, had ceased to stru^le. She saw tl
stood on the verge of lunacy, if he had Dot already
stepped across It. It was impossible to doubt, that, what^
ever painful efficacy there might be in the secret sting
of remorse, a deadlier venom had been infused into it
by the hand that proffered relief. A secret enemy had
been continually by his aide, under the semblance of a
friend and helper, and had availed himself of the op-
portunities thus afforded for tampering with the deli-
cate springs of Mr. Bimmesdale's nature. Hester could
not but ask herself, whether there had not originally
been a defect of truth, courage, and loyalty on her own
part, in allowing the minister to be thrown into a posi-
tion where so much evil was to be foreboded, and noth-
ing auspicious to be hoped. Her only justiBcation lay
in the fact, that she had been able to discern no method
of rescuing him &om a blacker ruin than had over-
whelmed herself, except by acquiescing in Koger Chil-
lingworth's scheme of disguise. Under that impulse,
ehe had made her choice, and had chosen, as it now
appeared, the more wretched alternative of the two.
She determined to redeem her error, bo far as it might
yet be possible. Strengthened by years of hard and
'solemn trial, she felt herself no longer so inadequate to
cope with Roger Chiilingworth as on that night, abaeet'
by sin, and half maddened by the ignominy that waj
Btill new, when they had talked together in the prison'
chamber. She had climbed her way, since then, to i
Mgher point. The old man, on the other hand, ha

ANOTHER VIEW OP HESTEB. 221

brought himself nearer to her level, or perhaps below
it, by the revenge which he had stooped for.

In fine, Hester Prynne resolved to meet her former
husband, and do what might be in her power for the
rescue of the victim on whom he had so evidently set
his gripe. The occasion was not long to seek. One
afternoon, walking with Pearl in a retired part of the
peninsula, she beheld the old physician, with a basket
on one arm, and a staff in the other hand, stooping
along the ground, in quest of roots and herbs to con-
coct his medicines withaL

HESTER AND THE PHYSICIAN.

HESTER bade little Pearl run down to the
of the water, and play with the shells and
sea-weed, until she should haye talked awhi
yonder gatherer of herbs. So the child fle^
like a bird, and, making bare her small whi
went pattering along the moist margin of t
Here and there she came to a full stop, and
curiously into a pool, left by the retiring ti(
mirror for Pear! to see her face in. Forth p©
her, out of the pool, with dark, glistening curls
her head, and an elf-smile in her eyes, the ims
little maid, whom Pearl, having no other pli
invited to take her hand, and run a race wi

But the vifiionary little maid, on her part, bt

likewise, as if to say, — -" This is a better place! Come
thou into the pool !" And Pearl, stepping in, mid-leg
deep, beheld her own white feet at the bottom ; while,
out of a still lower depth, came the gleam of a kind
of fragmentary smile, floating to and fro in the agi-
•"ipd water,
higianwhile, her mother had accosted the phyucian.

^^^.

HESTER AND THE PHYSICIAN. 223

"I would speak a word with you," said she, — ^"a
word that concerns us much."

"Aha! and is it Mistress Hester that has a word
for old Roger Chillingworth ?" answered he, raising
himself from his stooping posture. " With all my
heart! Why, Mistress, I hear good tidings of you,
on all hands ! No longer ago than yester-eve, a magis-
trate, a wise and godly man, was discoursing of your
affairs, Mistress Hester, and whispered me that there
had been question concerning you in the council. It
was debated whether or no, with safety to the common
weal, yonder scarlet letter might be taken off your
bosom. On my life, Hester, I made my entreaty to
the worshipful magistrate that it might be done forth-
with !"

" It lies not in the pleasure of the magistrates to take
off this badge," calmly replied Hester. "Were I
worthy to be quit of it, it would fall away of its own
nature, or be transformed into something that should
speak a different purport."

" Nay, then, wear it, if it suit you better," rejoined
he. "A woman must needs follow her own fancy,
touching the adornment of her person. The letter is
gayly embroidered, and shows right bravely on your
bosom !"

All this while, Hester had been looking steadily at
the old man, and was shocked, as well as wonder-
smitten, to discern what a change had been wrought
upon him within the past seven years. It was not f~
15

THE SCARLET LETTER.

,t he had grown older; for though the traces
sing life were visible, he bore his age well, and
1 retain a wiry vigor and alertness. But the
pect of an intellectual and studious man, caltn
t, which was what she beet remembered in
I altogether vanished, and been succeeded
iger, aearching, almost fierce, yet carefully
look. It seemed to be his wish and purpose
Lhis-expression with a smile; but the latter
im false, and flickered over his visage so
■ that the spectator could see his blackness
tter for it. Ever and anon, too, there came
' red light out of his eyes ; as if the old man's
i on fire, and kept on smouldering duskily
! breast, until, by some casual puff of passion,
jwn into a momentary flame. This he re-
s speedily as possible, and strove to look as
^ of the kind bad happened.
)rd, old Roger Chillingworth was a striking
jf man's faculty of transforming himself into
' be will only, for a reasonable space of time,
i a devil's office. This unhappy peraon bad
ich a transformation by devoting himself, for
rs, to the constant analysis of a heart full of
id deriving bis enjoyment thence, and add-
> those fiery tortures which he analyzed and
rer.
jltt letter burned on Hester Frynne's bosom.

1

HESTER AND THE PHYSICIAN. 225

Here waa another ruin, the responsibility of which came
partly home to her.

" What see you in my face," asked the physician,
"that you look at it so earnestly?"

" Something that would make me weep, if there were
any tears bitter enough for it," answered she. "But
let it pass I It is of yonder miserable man that I would
speak."

"And what of him?" cried Roger Chillingworth,
eagerly, as if he loved the topic, and were glad of an
opportunity to discuss it with the only person of whom
he could make a confidant. " Not to hide the truth.
Mistress Hester, my thoughts happen just now to be
busy with the gentleman. So speak freely ; and I will
make answer."

" When we last spake together," said Hester, " now
seven years ago, it was your pleasure to extort a
promise of secrecy, as touching the former relation
betwixt yourself and me. As the life and good fame
of yonder man were in your hands, there seemed no
choice to me, save to be silent, in accordance with
your behest. Yet it was not without heavy misgiv-
ings that I thus bound myself; for, having cast off
all duty towards other human beings, there remained
a duty towards him ; and something whispered me that
I was betraying it, in pledging myself to keep your
counsel. Since that day, no man is so near to him as
you. You tread behind his every footstep. You are
beside him, sleeping and waking. You search ^'

THE SCABLET LETTER.

ra burrow and rankle in hb heart !
is on his life, and you cause him to die
death ; and still he knows jou not. In
B, I have aurely acted a false part by the
hom the power was left me to be true !"
'ice had youf asked Roger Chilling-
finger, pointed at this man, would have
om his pulpit into a dungeon, — thence,
to the gallows 1"
n better so I" said Hester Prynne.

have I done the man?" asked Roger
again. " I tell thee, Hester Prynne, the
it ever physician earned from monarch
re bought such care as I have wasted
ible priest! But for my aid, bis life
irned away iu torments, within the first
er the perpetration of his crime and
[eater, bis spirit lacked the strength that
me up, as thine has, beneath a burden
!t letter. O, I could reveal a goodly
inough ! What art can do, I have ex-
m. That he now breathes, and creeps
, is owing all to me !"
bad died at once !" said Hester Prynne,
in, thou sayeat truly !" cried old Roger

letting the lurid fire of his heart blaze
■ eyes. "Better had he died at once!
rtal suffer what this man has suffered,
in the sight of his worst enemy! He

HE8TEB AND THE PHYSICIAN.

has been conscious of me. He has felt an
dwelling always upon him like a curse. E
by some spiritual sense, — for the Creator nei
another being so sensitive as this, — he ki
no friendly hand was pulling at his heart^str
that an eye was looking curiously into hii
sought only evil, and found it But he I
that the eye and hand were mine ! With tl
Stition common to his brotherhood, he fencied
given over to a fiend, to he tortured with
dreams, and desperate thoughts, the eting of
and desp^r of pardon ; as a foretaste of whi
him beyond the grave. But it was the conatan
of my presence ! — the closest propinquity of
whom he had most vilely wronged! — and i
grown to exist only by this perpetual poisoi
direst revenge! Yea, indeed 1 — he did no
there was a fiend at his elbow ! A. mortal Tt
once a human heart, has become a fiend for hie
torment !"

The unfortunate physician, while utterin
words, lifted his hands with a look of horror,
had beheld some frighttiil shape, which he »
recognize, usurping the place of bis own im(
glass. It was one of those moments — which so
occur only at the interval of years — when
moral aspect is faithfully revealed to his mii
Not improbably, he had never before viewed hi
he did now.

ICAELET LETTER.

tured him enough ?" said Hester,
's look. " Has he not paJd thee

las but increased the debt !" an-
; and as he proceeded, hia manner
eristics, and subsided into gloom.
c me, Heater, aa I was Dine yeara
[ was in the autnmn of ray days,
utumn. But all my life had been
studious, thoughtful, quiet years,
r the increase of mine own know-
too, though this latter object waa
ler, — faithfully for the advance-
re. No life had been more peace-
in mine; few lives go rich with
)oat thou remember me? Waa I
ht deem me cold, nevertheleea a
,here, craying little for himself, —
F constant, if not warm affections?

B," said Heater.

! now?" demanded he, looking
ermitting the whole evil within
his features. "I have already
A fiend 1 Who made me so ?"
cried Heater, shuddering. " It
le. Why haat thou not avenged

the scarlet letter," replied Roger

1

HESTER AND THE PHYSICIAN. 229

^^■**' I ■ I I ■ ■ ■■II ■ ■ I I I ■ I I 11 ■ — ■ I ■ ■ ■■■■■»■ ■, ^ — ^^^^^M^^^»^— ^^ I

Chillingworth. " K that have not avenged me, I can
do no more !"

He laid his finger on it, with a smile.

" It has avenged thee !" answered Hester Prynne.

" I judged no less," said the physician. " And now,
what wouldst thou with me touching this man ?"

" I must reveal the secret," answered Hester, firmly.
" He must discern thee in thy true character. What
may be the result, I know not. But this long debt
of confidence, due from me to him, whose bane and
ruin I have been, shall at length be paid. So far
as concerns the overthrow or preservation of his fair
fame and his earthly state, and perchance his life,
he is in thy hands. Nor do I, — whom the scarlet
letter has disciplined to truth, though it be the truth
of red-hot iron, entering into the soul, — nor do I per-
ceive such advantage in his living any longer a life
of ghastly emptiness, that I shall stoop to implore thy
mercy. Do with him as thou wilt ! There is no good
for him, — no good for me, — no good for thee 1 There
is no good for little Pearl ! There is no path to guide
us out of this dismal maze !"

" Woman, I could well-nigh pity thee !" said Roger
Chillingworth, unable to restrain a thrill of admiration
too; for there was a quality almost majestic in the
despair which she expressed. "Thou hadst great
elements. Peradventure, hadst thou met earlier with a
better love than mine, this evil had not been. I pity
thee, for the good that has been wasted in thy nature !"

THE SCABLET LETITEB.

I thee," answered Hester Prynne, "for t
bat has transformed a wise and just man

Wilt thou yet purge it out of thee, and
-e human? If not for his sake, then doul
own I For^ve, and leave hia iurther retrit
he Power that claims it I I said, but no
re could be no good event for him, or tfai
bo are here wandering together in this gloor
evil, and stumbling, at every step, over t
jrewith we have strewn our path. It is not e
ight be good for thee, and thee alone, sin
t been deeply wronged, and faast it at thy w
in. Wilt thou give up that only privileg
u reject that pricelesB benefit ?"
e, Hester, peace I" replied the old man, wi
temnees. "It is not granted me to pardc
10 such power as thou tellest me of. My o
g forgotten, comes back to me, and explai
we do, and all we suffer. By thy first st
)U didst plant the germ of evil ; but since th
it has all been a dark necessity. Ye that ha
me are not sinful, save in a kind of typiou
neither am I fiend-like, who have snatched a
See from bis hands. It is our iate. Let the
NSJ blossom as it may I Now go thy ways,
as thou wilt with yonder man."
ived his hand, and betook himself agtun to hia
ent of gathering herbs.

XV.

HESTER AND PEARL.

SO Roger Chillingworth — a deformed old figure,
with a face that haunted men's memories longer
than they liked — took leave of Hester Prynne, and
went stooping away along the earth. He gathered
here and there an herb, or grubbed up a root, and put
it into the basket on his arm. His gray beard almost
touched the ground as he crept onward. Hester gazed
after him a little while, looking with a half fantastic
curiosity to see whether the tender grass of early spring
would not be blighted beneath him, and show the waver-
ing track of his footsteps, sere and brown, across its
cheerful verdure. She wondered what sort of herbs
they were, which the old man was so sedulous to gather.
Would not the earth, quickened to an evil purpose by
the sympathy of his eye, greet him with poisonous
shrubs, of species hitherto unknown, that would start
up under his fingers? Or might it suflSce him, that
every wholesome growth should be converted into
something deleterious and malignant at his touch?
Did the sun, which shone so brightly everywhere else,
really fall upon him? Or was there, as it rather
seemed, a circle of ominous shadow moving along wi^'

231

THE SCARLET LETTER.

whichever way he turned himself? And
! now goiDg? Would he not suddenly
uth, leaving a barren and blasted spot,

course of time, would be seen deadly
vwood, henbane, and whatever else of
redness the climate could produce, all
;b hideous luxuriance? Or would he
ngs and flee away, looking so much the
ler he rose towards heaven ?
»r no," said Hester Prynne, bitterly, aa

after him, " I hate the man !"
ed herself for the sentiment, but could
>r lessen it Attempting to do so, she
3se long-past days, in a distant land,

to emerge at eventide from the seclu-
ij, and sit down in the fire-light of their

the light of her nuptial smile. He

himself in that smiie, he said, in order
f so many lonely hours among his books
n off the scholar's heart. Such scenes
ired not otherwise than happy, but now,
lugh the dismal medium of her subse-
r classed themselves among her ugliest
She marvelled how such scenes could
he marvelled how she could ever have
ipon to marry him! She deemed it her

be repented of, that she had ever en-
ciprocated, the lukewarm grasp of his

Bufiered the smile of her lips and eyes

HESTER AND PEARL,. 233

to mingle and melt into his own. And it seemed a
fouler offence committed by Roger Chillingworth, than
any which had since been done him, that, in the time
when her heart knew no better, he had persuaded hei-
to fancy herself happy by his side.

" Yes, I hate him I" repeated Hester, more bitterly
than before. "He betrayed mel He has done me
worse wrong than I did himl"

Let men tremble to win the hand of woman, unless
they win along with it the utmost passion of her heart!
Else it may be their miserable fortune, as it was Roger
Chillingworth's, when some mightier touch than their
own may have awakened all her sensibilities, to be re-
proached even for the calm content, the marble image
of happiness, which they will have imposed upon her
as the warm reality. But Hester ought long ago to
have done with this injustice. What did it betoken ?
Had seven long years, under the torture of the scarlet
letter, inflicted so much of misery, and wrought out no
repentance ?

The emotions of that brief space, while she stood
gazing after the crooked figure of old Roger Chilling-
worth, threw a dark light on Hester's state of mind,
revealing much that she might not otherwise have ac-
knowledgd to herself.

He being gone, she summoned back her child.

" Pearl ! Little Pearl ! Where are you ?"

Pearl, whose activity of spirit never flagged, had
been at no loss for amusement while her mother talked

! BCAHLET LETTER.

erofherbs. At first, as already' told,
;ifully with her own image in a pool
g the phantom forth, and — as it de-
-seeking a paesag« for herself into its
le earth and unattainable sky. Sooa
hat either she or the image vas ua-
jwhere for better pastime. She made
birch-bark, and freighted them with
it out more ventures on the mighty
hant in New England ; but the lai^er
dered near the shore She seized s
the tail, and made prize of several
ud out a jelly-fish to melt in the

she took up the white foam, that
f the advancing tide, and threw it
^mpering after it, with winged foot-
great snow-flakes ere they fell. Per-

beach-birds, that fed and fluttered
e naughty child picked up her apron
1, creeping from rock to rock after
w\, displayed remarkable dexterity

One little gray bird, with a white
dmost sure, had been hit by a peh-

away with a broken wing. But
sighed, and gave up her sport; be-
r to have done barm to a little being
s the sea-breeze, or as wild as Pearl

ayment was to gtUiher sea-weed, of

HESTER AND PEARL. 235

various kinds, and make herself a scarf, or mantle,
and a head-dress^ and thus assume the aspect of a little
mermaid. She inherited her mother's gift for devisini^
drapery and costume. As the last touch to her rricr-
maid's garb, Pearl took some eel-grass, and imitated,
as best she could, on her own bosom, the decoration
with which she was so familiar on her mother's. A
letter, — the letter A, — but freshly green, instead of
scarlet! The child bent her chin upon her breast,
and contemplated this device with strange interest;
even as if the one only thing for which she had been
sent into the world was to make out its hidden import.

" I wonder if mother will ask me what it means ?"
thought Pearl.

Just then she heard her mother's voice, and flitting
along as lightly as one of the little sea-birds, appeared
before Hester Prynne, dancing, laughing, and pointing
her finger to the ornament upon her bosom.

"My little Pearl," said Hester, after a moment's
silence, " the green letter, and on thy childish bosom,
has no purport. But dost thou know, my child, what
this letter means which thy mother is doomed to
wear ?"

" Yes, mother," said the child. " It is the great let-
ter A. Thou hast taught me in the horn-book."

Hester looked steadily into her little face; but,
though there was that singular expression which she
had so often remarked in her black eyes, she could
not satisfy herself whether Pearl really attached any

THE SCABI,BT LBTTBB.

.le Bymbol. She felt a morbid desire tn

point.

koow, child, wherefore thy mother wears

I!" answered Pearl, looking brightly
ler's face. "It is for the same reason
iter keeps his hand over his heart I"
t reason is that?" asked Hester, half
B absurd incongruity of the child's ob-
it, on second thoughts, turning pale.
;hB letter to do with any heart, save

ler, I have told all I know," said Pearl,
' than she was wout to speak, "Ask
an whom thou hast been talking with!
a can t«Il. But in good earnest now,
fhat does this scarlet letter mean? — and

wear it on thy bosom ? — and why does
3ep his hand over his heart?"
iT mother's hand in both her own, and

eyes with an earnestness that was sel-
er wild and capricious character. The
%d to Hester, that the child might really
ipproach her with child-like confidence,
)t she could, and as intelligently as she
establish a meeting-point of sympathy.
rl in an unwonted aspect. Heretofore,
lile loving her child with the intensity
ttion, had schooled herself to hope for

HESTER AND PEARL. 237

little other return than the waywardness of an April
breeze ; which spends its time in airy sport, and has !
its gusts of inexplicable passion, and is petulant in its j ^
best of moods, and chills oftener than caresses you,
when you take it to your bosom ; in requital of which
misdemeanors, it will sometimes, of its own vague pur-
pose, kiss your cheek with a kind of doubtfiil tender-
ness, and play gently with your hair, and then begone
about its other idle business, leaving a dreamy pleas-
ure at your heart. And this, moreover, was a mother's
estimate of the child's disposition. Any other observer
might have seen few but unamiable traits, and have i
given them a far darker coloring. But now the idea
came strongly into Hester's mind, that Pearl, with her
remarkable precocity and acuteness, might already
have approached the age when she could be made a
friend, and intrusted with as much of her mother's
sorrows as could be imparted, without irreverence
either to the parent or the child. In the little chaos
of Pearl's character, there might be seen emerging —
and could have been, from the very first — ^the stead-
fast principles of an unflinching courage, — an uncon-
trollable will, — a sturdy pride, which might be disci-
plined into self-respect, — and a bitter scorn of many
things, which, when examined, might be found to have
the taint of falsehood in them. She possessed aflTec-
tions, too, though hitherto acrid and disagreeable, as
are the richest flavors of unripe fruit. With all these
sterling attributes, thought Hester, the evil which she

THE SCARLET LETTER.

m her mother must be great indeed, if a
I do not grow out of this elfish child. -
vitable tendency to hover about the enigma
it letter seemed an innate quality of her
n the earliest epoch of her conscious life,
jred upon this as her appointed mission,
often fancied that Providence had a de-
te and retribution, in endowing the child
irked propensity ; but never, until now,
ought herself to ask, whether, linked with
there might not likewise be a purpose of
beneficence. If little Pearl were enter-
talib and trust, as a spirit messenger no
earthly child, might it not be her errand
ly the sorrow that lay cold in her mother's
inverted it into a tomb ? — and to help her
the passion, once so wild, and even yet
nor asleep, but only imprisoned within
nb-like heart?

some of the thoughts that now stirred in
d, with as much vivacity of impression as
ctually been whispered into her ear. And
ittle Pearl, all this while, holding her
d in both her own, and turning her face
le she put these searching questions, once,
ad still a third time.

oes the letter mean, mother? — and why
B&r it? — and why does the minister keep
er his heart?"

HESTEB AND PEARIi. 239

■ — ■■ ■ ■ ' ' i i»

"What shall I say?" thought Hester to herself.
" No ! If this be the price of the child's sympathy, I
cannot pay it."

Then she spoke aloud.

"Silly Pearl," said she, "what questions are these?
There are many things in this world that a child must
not ask about. What know I of the minister's heart ?
And as for the scarlet letter, I wear it for the sake of
its gold thread."

In all the seven bygone years, Hester Prynne had
never before been false to the symbol on her bosom. It
may be that it was the talisman of a stern and severe,
but yet a guardian spirit, who now forsook her; as
recognizing that, in spite of his strict watch over her
heart, some new evil had crept into it, or some old one
had never been expelled. As for little Pearl, the ear-
nestness soon passed out of her face.

But the child did not see fit to let the matter drop.
Two or three times, as her mother and she went home-
ward, and as often at supper-time, and while Hester was
putting her to bed, and once after she seemed to be
fairly asleep. Pearl looked up, with mischief gleaming
in her black eyes.

"Mother," said she, "what does the scarlet letter
mean ?"

And the next morning, the first indication the child
gave of being awake was by popping up her head from
the pillow, and making that other inquiry, which she

16

BB SCABLET liEFTEB,

::ably connected with her iuveetigations
letter:—

other I — Why does the minUter keep
} heart?"

iDgue, naughty child!" answered her
asperity that eke had never permitted
" Do not tease me ; elae I shall shut
k closet I"

XVI.

A FOREST WALK.

HESTER PRYNNE remained constant in her re-
solve to make known to Mr. Dimmesdale, at what-
ever risk of present pain or ulterior consequences, the
true character of the man who had crept into his inti-
macy. For several days, however, she vainly sought
an opportunity of addressing him in some of the medi-
tative walks which she knew him to be in the habit of
taking, along the shores of the peninsula, or on the
wooded hills of the neighboring country. There would
have been no scandal, indeed, nor peril to the holy
whiteness of the clergyman's good fame, had she visited
him in his own study; where many a penitent, ere now,
had confessed sins of perhaps as deep a dye as the one
betokened by the scarlet letter. But, partly that she
dreaded the secret or undisguised interference of old
Roger Chillingwortb, and partly that her conscious
heart imputed suspicion where none could have been
felt, and partly that both the minister and she would
need the whole wide world to breathe in, while they
talked together, — ^for all these reasons, Hester never
thought of meeting him in any narrower privacy than
beneath the open sky.

241

242 THE SCARLET LETTER.

At last, while attending in a sick-chamber, whither
the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale had been summoned to
make a prayer, she learnt that he had gone, the day
before, to visit the Apostle Eliot, among his Indian
converts. He would probably return, by a certain
hour, in the afternoon of the morrow. Betimes,
therefore, the next day, Hester took little Pearl, —
who was necessarily the companion of all her mother's
expeditions, however inconvenient her presence, — and
set forth.

The road, after the two wayfarers had crossed from
the peninsula to the mainland, was no other than a
foot-path. It straggled onward into the mystery of the
primeval forest. This hemmed it in so narrowly, and
stood so black and dense on either side, and disclosed
such imperfect glimpses of the sky above, that, to
Hester's mind, it imaged not amiss the moral wilder-
ness in which she had so long been wandering. The
day was chill and sombre. Overhead was a gay ex-
panse of cloud, slightly stirred, however, by a breeze ;
so that a gleam of flickering sunshine might now and
then be seen at its solitary play along the path. This
flitting cheerfulness was always at the further extrem-
ity of 'some long vista through the forest. The sport-
ive sunlight — ^feebly sportive, at best, in the predomi-
nant pensiveness of the day and scene — withdrew it-
self as they came nigh, and left the spots where it had
danced the drearier, because they had hoped to find
*^em bright.

A FOREST WALK. 243

" Mother," said little Pearl, " the sunshine does not
love you. It runs away and hides itself, because it is
afraid of something on your bosom. Now, see ! There
it is, playing, a good way off. Stand you here, and let
me run and catch it. I am but a child. It will not flee
from me ; for I wear nothing on my bosom yet !"

" Nor ever will, my child, I hope," said Hester.

"And why not, mother?" asked Pearl, stopping
short, just at the beginning of her race. " Will not
it come of its own accord, when I am a woman grown?"

"Run away, child," answered her mother, "and
catch the sunshine I It will soon be gone."

Pearl set forth, at a great pace, and, as Hester smiled
to perceive, did actually catch the sunshine, and stood
laughing in the midst of it, all brightened by its splen-
dor, and scintillating with the vivacity excited by rapid
motion. The light lingered about the lonely child, as
if glad of such a playmate, until her mother had drawn
almost nigh enough to step into the magic circle too.

" It will go now," said Pearl, shaking her head.

"See!" answered Hester, smiling. "Now I can
stretch out my hand, and grasp some of it." t

As she attempted to do so, the sunshine vanished ;
or, to judge from the bright expression that waa dancing
on Pearl's features, her mother could have fancied that
the child had absorbed it into herself, and would give it
forth again, with a gleam about her path, as they should
plunge into some gloomier shade. There was no other
attribute that so much impressed her with, a sense o^

I I

THE SCARLET LETTER,

untransmitted vigor in Pcarl'B nature, as this
ing vivacity of spiritB ; she had not the disease
13, which alniofit all children, in these latter
erit, with the scrofula, from the troubles of
lestora. Perhaps this too was a disease, and
reflex of the wild energy with which Hester
ht against her sorrows, before Pearl's birth.
Ttainly a doubtful charm, imparting a hard,
lustre to the child's character. She wanted —
le people want throughout life — a grief that
ieply touch her, and thus humanize and make
jle of sympathy. But there was time enough
ttle Pearl,

!, my child!" said Hester, looking about her
spot where Pearl had stood still in the sun-
We will sit down a little way within the wood,
Durselves."

not aweary, mother," replied the little girl,
u may sit down, if you will tell me a story
ie."

ry, child !" said Hester. "And about what?"
story about the Black Man," answered Pearl,
>ld of her mother's gown, and looking up, half
, half mischievously, into her face, " How he
lis forest, and carries a book with biro, — a big,
ok, with iron clasps ; and how this ugly Black
rs his book and an iron pen to everybody that
a here among the trees ; and they ore to write

A FOREST WALK. 245

their names with their own blood. And then he sets
his mark on their bosoms ! Didst thou ever meet the
Black Man, mother ?"

"And who told you this story, Pearl?" asked her
mother, recognizing a common superstition of the
period.

" It was the old dame in the chimney-comer, at the
house where you watched last night," said the child.
** But she fancied me asleep while she was talking of
it. She said that a thousand and a thousand people had
met him here, and had written in his book, and have
his mark on them. And that ugly-tempered lady, old
Mistress Hibbins, was one. And, mother, the old dame
said that this scarlet letter was the Black Man's mark
on thee, and that it glows like a red flame when thou
meetest him at midnight, here in the dark wood. Is
it true, mother ? And dost thou go to meet him in the
night-time ?"

" Didst thou ever awake, and find thy mother gone?"
asked Hester.

" Not that I remember," said the child. " If thou
fearest to leave me in our cottage, thou raightest take
me along with thee. I would very gladly go I But,
mother, tell me now I Is there such a Black Man?
And didst thou ever meet him? And is this his
mark ?" .

" Wilt thou let me be at peace, if I once tell thee ?"
asked her mother.

" Yes, if thou tellest me all," answered Pearl.

THE 6CARLET LEITEK.

ay life I met the Black Man 1" said her

Ilia gcarlet letter is his mark !"
urging, they entered sufficiently deep into
scure themselves from the observation of
ssenger along the forest track. Here they
t luxuriant heap of moss ; which, at some
preceding century, had been a gigantic
roots and trunk in the darksome shade,
iloft in the upper atmosphere. It was a
ere they had seated themselves, with a
ink rising gently on either side, and a
■ through the midst, over a bed of fallen
leaves. The trees impending over it had
;reat branches, irom time to time, which
i current, and compelled it to form eddies
pths at some points ; while, in its swifter
assies, there appeared a channel-way of
)rown, sparkling sand. Letting the eyes
he course of the stream, they could catch
ight from its water, at some short distance
est, but soon lost all traces of it amid the
of tree-trunks and underbrush, and here
uge rock covered over with gray lichens,
it trees and boulders of granite seemed
Ling a mystery of the course of this small
g, perhaps, that, with its never-ceasing
hould whisper tales out of the heart of
; whence it flowed, or mirror its revela-
amooth surface of a pool Continually,

A FOREST WALK. 247

iudeed, as it stole onward, the streamlet kept up a
babble, kind, quiet, soothing, but melancholy, like the
voice of a young child that was spending its infancy
without playfulness, and knew not how to be merry
among sad acquaintance and events of sombre hue.

"O brook! O foolish and tiresome little brook!*'
cried Pearl, after listening awhile to its talk. ** Why
art thou so sad ? Pluck up a spirit, and do not be all
the time sighing and murmuring!"

But the brook, in the course of its little lifetime
among the forest-trees, had gone through so solemn an
experience that it could not help talking about it, and
seemed to have nothing else to say. Pearl resembled
the brook, inasmuch as the current of her life gushed
from a well-spring as mysterious, and had flowed
through scenes shadowed as heavily with gloom. But,
unlike the little stream, she danced and sparkled, and
prattled airily along her course.

"What does this sad little brook say, mother?"
inquired she.

" If thou hadst a sorrow of thine own, the brook
might tell thee of it," answered her mother, " even aa
it is telling me of mine I But now. Pearl, I hear a
footstep along the path, and the noise of one putting
aside the branches. I would have thee betake thy-
self to play, and leave me to speak with him that
comes yonder."

" Is it the Black Man ?" asked Pearl.

" Wilt thou go and play, child?" repeated her mother.

IB SCARLET LETCTER.

y far into the wood. And take heed
t my first call."

' answered Pearl. " But if it be the
thou not let me stay a moment, and
his big book under his arm ?"
1 !" said her mother, impatiently. " It
! Thou canst see him now, through
he minister."

" said the child. " And, mother, he
r bis heart I Is it because, when the
i name in the book, the Black Man
■at plac& ? But why does he not wear
im, as thou dost, mother?"
I, and thou Shalt tease me as thou wilt
ried Hester Prynne. "But do not
where thou canst hear the babble of

singing away, following up the cur-
, and striving to luingle a more light-
b its melancholy voice. But the little

lie comforted, and still kept telling
secret of some very mournful myBtery
i — or making a prophetic lamentation
that was yet to happen^wjthin the
li forest So Pearl, who bad enough
own little life, chose to break off all
. this repining brook. She set herself,
iring violets aud wood-anemones, and

A FOREST WALK. 249

some scarlet columbines that she found growing in the
crevices of a high rock.

When her elf-child had departed, Hester Prynne
made a step or two towards the track that led through
the forest, but still remained under the deep shadow
of the trees. She beheld the minister advancing along
the path, entirely alone, and leaning on a staff which
he had cut by the way-side. He looked haggard and
feeble, and betrayed a nerveless despondency in his
air, which had never so remarkably characterized him
in his walks about the settlement, nor in any other
situation where he deemed himself liable to notice.
Here it was wofully visible, in this intense seclusion of
the forest, which of itself would have been a heavy
trial to the spirits. There was a listlessness in his
gait ; as if he saw no reason for taking one step further,
nor felt any desire to do so, but would have been glad,
could he be glad of anything, to fling himself down at
the root of the nearest tree, and lie there passive, for-
evermore. The leaves might bestrew him, and the soil
gradually accumulate and form a little hillock over his
frame, no matter whether there were life in it or no.
Death was too definite an object to be wished for, or
avoided.

To Hester's eye, the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale ex-
hibited no symptom of positive and vivacious suffer-
ing, except that, as little Pearl had remarked, he kept
his hand over his heart

XVII.

'ASTOR AND HIS PAKISHIONER.

as the luinkter tralked, he had almoet
before Hester Prynne could gather voice
tttract his observation. At length she

Dimmesdale I" she said, faintly at first;
but hoarsely. "Arthur Dimmesdale 1"

aks ?" ansnered the minister,
himself quickly up, he stood more erect,
aken by surprise in a mood to which he
t to have witnesses. Throwing his eyes
the direction of the voice, he indistinctly
■m under the trees, clad in garments so
so little relieved from the gray twilight
le clouded sky and the heavy foliage had
3 noontide, that he knew not whether it
n or a shadow. It may be, that hia path-
life was haunted thus, by a spectre that
it from among his thoughts.
a step nigher, and discovered the scarlet

Hester Prynne!" said he. "Is it thou?
life?"

THE PASTOR AND HIS PAEISHIONER. 251

" Even 80 1" she answered. " In such life as has
been mine these seven years past I And thou, Arthur
Dimmeedale, dost thou yet live?"

It was no wonder that they thus questioned
other's actual and bodily existence, and even i
ef their own. So strangely did they meet, in I
wood, that it was like the first encounter, in th
beyond the grave, of two spirits who had be
mately connected in their former life, but no'
coldly shuddering, in mutual dread ; as not yet i
with their state, nor wonted to the companion
disembodied beings. Each a ghost, and awe-stri
the other ghost 1 They were awe-strinken liki
themselves; because the crisis flung back to the
consciousness, and revealed to each heart its
and experience, as life never does, except i
breathless epochs. The soul beheld its feature
mirror of the passing moment. It was with ft
tremulously, and, as it were, by a slow, reluct
cessity, that Arthur Dimmesdale put forth hii
chill as death, and touched the chill hand of
Prynne, The grasp, cold as it was, took awa
was dreariest in the interview. They now fel
selves, at least, inhabitants of the same sphen

"Without a word more spoken, — neither he i
assuming the guidance, but with an unexpreas-
sent, — they glided back into the shadow of the
whence Hester had emerged, and sat down on tl
of moss where she and Pearl had before been

252 THE SCARLET LETTER.

When they found voice to speak, it was, at first, only
to utter remarks and inquiries such as any two ac-
quaintances might have made, about the gloomy sky,
the threatening storm, and, next, the health of each.
Thus they went onward, not boldly, but step by step,
into the themes ihat were brooding deepest in their
hearts. So long estranged by fate and circumstances,
they needed something slight and casual to run be-
fore, and throw open the doors of intercourse, so that
their real thoughts might be led across the threshold.

After a while, the minister fixed his eyes on Hester
Prynne's.

" Hester," said he, " hast thou found peace ?"

She smiled drearily, looking down upoji her bosom.

" Hast thou ?" she asked.

"None! — nothing but despair!" he answered.
" What else could I look for, being what I am, and
leading such a life as mine ? Were I an atheist, — a
man devoid of conscience, — a wretch with coarse and
brutal instincts, — I might have found peace, long ere
now. Nay, I never should have lost it ! But, as mat-
ters stand with my soul, whatever of good capacity
there originally was in me, all of God's gifts that were
the choicest have become the ministers of spiritual tor-
ment. Hester, I am most miserable !"

" The people reverence thee," said Hester. " And
surely thou workest good among them! Doth this
bring thee no comfort?"

"More misery, Hester! — only the more misery!"

THE PASTOR AND HIS PARISHIONER. 253

answered the clergyman, with a bitter smile. "As
concerns the good which I may appear to do, I have
no faith in it. It must needs be a delusion. What
can a ruined soul, like mine, effect towards the re-
demption of other souls ? — or a polluted soul, towards
their purification ? And as for the people's reverence,
would that it were turned to scorn and hatred ! Canst
thou deem it, Hester, a consolation, that I must stand
up in my pulpit, and meet so many eyes turned up-
ward to my face, as if the light of heaven were beam-
ing from it I — must see my floc^ hungry for the truth,
and listening to my words as if a tongue of Pentecost
were speaking! — ^and then look inward, and discern
the black reality of what they idolize ? I have laughed,
in bitterness and agony of heart, at the contrast be-
tween what I seem and what I am ! And Satan laughs
at it !"

"You wrong yourself in this," said Hester, gently.
" You have deeply and sorely repented. Your sin is
left behind you, in the days long past. Your present
life is not less holy, in very truth, than it seems in
people's eyes. Is there no reality in the penitence thus
sealed and witnessed by good works ? And wherefore
should it not bring you peace T*

" No, Hester, no I" replied the clergyman. " There
is no substance in it ! It is cold and dead, and can do
nothing for me! Of penance, I have had enough ! Of
penitence, there has been none ! Else, I should long
ago have thrown off these garments of mock holineP"

THE SCAELET LBTTEK.

lown myself to mankind as they will see
dgment-eeat Happy are you, Hester, tliat
irlet letter openly upon your bosom I Mine
ret I Thou little knowest what a relief it
torment of a seven jrears' cheat, to look
that recognizes me for what I am I Had I
-or were it my worst enemy I — to whom,
led with the praises of all other men, I
betake myself, and be known as the vilest
s, methinks my soul might keep itself alive
-en thus much of truth would save me! But,
1 falsehood! — all emptiness !— all death!"
rynne looked into his face, but hesitated to
^ uttering bis long-restrained emotions so
as he did, his words here offered her the
f circumstances in which to interpose what
say. She conquered her fears, and spoke,
friend aa thou baat even now wished for,"
rith whom to weep over thy sin, thou hast
partner of it 1" — Again she hesitated, but
t the words with an effort. — "Thou haat
cb an enemy, and dwellest with him, under
jf!"

Iter started to bis feet, gasping for breath,
ig at his heart, as if he would have torn it
osom.

''hat aayest thou T' cried he. " An enemy !
mine own roof! What mean you f"
rynne was now fully sensible of the deep

THE PASTOR AND HIS PARISHIONER. 255

injury for wliich she was responsible to this unhappy
man, in permitting him to lie for so many years, or,
indeed, for a single moment, at the mercy of one whose
purposes could not be other than malevolent. The very^
contiguity of his enemy, beneath whatever mask the
latter might conceal himself, was enough to disturb the
magnetic sphere of a being so sensitive as Arthur Dim-
mesdale. There had been a period when Hester was
less alive to this consideration ; or, perhaps, in the mis-
anthropy of her own trouble, she left the minister to
bear what she might picture to herself as a more toler-
able doom. But of late, since the night of his vigil, all
her sympathies towards him had been both softened
and invigorated. She now read his heart more accu-
rately. She doubted not, that the continual presence
of Roger Chillingworth, — the secret poison of his ma-
lignity, infecting all the air about him, — and his au-
thorized interference, as a physician, with the minister's
physical and spiritual infirmities, — that these bad op-
portunities had been turned to a cruel purpose. By
means of them the sufferer's conscience had been kept
in an irritated state, the tendency of which was, not to
cure by wholesome pain, but to disorganize and cor-
rupt his spiritual being. Its result, on earth, could
hardly fail to be insanity, and hereafter, that eternal fe
alienation from the Good and True, of which madness
is perhaps the earthly type.

Such was the ruin to which she had brought the man,

ODce, — nay, why should we not speak it? — still so paf
17

r

[■HE SCAIUUBT LEITXIR.

I Hester felt that the sacrifice of the
>d name, and death itself, as she had
ger Chillingworth, would have been in-
ble to the alternative which she had
self to choose. And now, rather than

grievous wrong to coufese, she would
D down on the forest-leaves, and died
r Dimmesdale's feet.

cried she, " forgive me I In all things
iven to be true! Truth was the one
might have held fast, and did hold fast,
tremity ; save when thy good — thy life,
iteie put in question ! Then I con-
iption. But a lie is never good, evrai
ireateu on the other side I Bost thou
would say ? That old man ! — the phy-
om they call Roger Chillingworth I — ■
(band !"

looked at her, for an instant, with all
f passion, which — intermixed, in more
e, with his higher, purer, softer quali-
ict, the portion of him which the Devil
trough which he sought to win the rest,
re a blacker or a fiercer frown than
ountered. For the brief space that it
dark transfiguration. But bis charac-

much enfeebled by suffering that even
ies were incapable of more than a tern-

THE PASTOK AND HIS PARI8HI0NEE. 257

porary struggle. He sank down on the ground, and
buried his face in his hands.

" I might have known it," murmured he. " I did
know it! Was not the secret told me, in the natural
recoil of my heart, at the first sight of him, and as often
as I have seen him since ? Why did I not understand ?
O Hester Prynne, thou little, little knowest all the hor-
ror of this thing ! And the shame ! — ^the indelicacy !
— ^the horrible ugliness of this exposure of a sick and
guilty heart to the very eye that would gloat over it !
Woman, woman, thou art accountable for this ! I can-
not forgive thee I "

" Thou shalt forgive me !" cried Hester, flinging her-
self on the fallen leaves beside him. " Let God pun-
ish ! Thou shalt forgive I"

With sudden and desperate tenderness, she threw
her arms around him, and pressed his head against her
bosom; little caring though his cheek rested on the
scarlet letter. He would have released himself, but
strove in vain to do so. Hester would not set him
free, lest he should look her sternly in the face. All
the world had frowned on her, — ^for seven long years
had it frowned upon this lonely woman, — and still she
bore it all, nor ever once turned^^aj L-her firm, sad
eyes. Heaven, likewise, had frowned upon her, and
she had not died. But the frown of this pale, weak,
sinful, and sorrow-stricken man was what Hester
could not bear, and live!

" Wilt thou yet forgive me ? " she repeated, over and

1^^

TT I£TTBB,

ot frown? Wilt thou for-

r," replied the minister, at
«, out of an abyss of sad<
sly forgive you now. May
are not, Hester, the worst
e is one worse than even
lid man's revenge has been
as violated, in cold blood,
at. Thou and I, Hester,

•d she. " What we did had
We felt it so 1 We said eo
rorgotten it ?"

rthur Dimmesdale, rising
have not foi^tten !"
I by side, and hand clasped
c of the Jallen tree. Life
gloomier hour ; it was the

had so long been tending,
jle along ;— and yet it en-
hem linger upon it, and
T, and, after all, another
bscure around them, and
£ passing through it. The

above their heads ; while
dolefully to another, as if

pair that sat beneath, or
to come.

THE PASTOR AND HIS PARISHIONER. 259

And yet they lingered. How dreary looked the forest-
track that led backward to the settlement, where Hester
Prynne must take up again the burden of her ignominy,
and the minister the hollow mockery of his good name!
So they lingered an instant longer. No golden light
had ever been so precious as the gloom of this dark
forest. Here, seen only by his eyes, the scarlet letter
need not burn into the bosom of the fallen woman !
Here, seen only by her eyes, Arthur Dimme«dale>
false to God and man, might be, for one moment,
true!

He started at a thought that suddenly occurred to
him.

" Hester," cried he, *' here is a new horror ! Roger
Chillingworth knows your purpose to reveal his true
character. Will he continue, then, to keep our secret ?
What will now be the course of his revenge?"

" There is a strange secrecy in his nature," replied
Hester, thoughtftilly ; " and it has grown upon him by
the hidden practices of his revenge. I deem it not likely
that he will betray the secret. He will doubtless seek
other means of satiating his dark passion."

" And I ! — ^how am I to live longer, breathing the
same air with this deadly enemy ?" exclaimed Arthur
Dimmesdale, shrinking within himself, and pressing
his hand nervously against his heart, — a gesture that
had grown involuntary with him. "Think for me,
Hester! Thou art strong. Resolve for me!"

" Thou must dwell no longer with this man," said

nnly, "Thy heart must be no
eye I"

than death !" replied the minb-
aid it ? What choice remainB to
1 again on these withered leavea,
hen thou didst tell me what be
wn there, and die at once?"
has befallen theel" said Hester,
f into her eyes. " Wilt thou die
[lere is no other oause I"
3od is on me," answered the con-
" It is too mighty for me to

n mercy," rejoined Hester, " hadet

to take advantage of it."

)r me!" answered he. "Advise

, so narrow V exclmmed Hester
!p eyes on the minister's, and in-
i magnetic power over a spirit so
1 that it could hardly hold itself
iverse lie within the compass of
ly a little time ago was but a leaf-
y as this around ua? Whither
ack? Backward to the settle-
fcs; but onward, too! Deeper
to the wilderness, less plainly to
until, some few miles hence, the
V no vestige of the white man's

THE PASTOR AND HIS PARISHIONER. 281

tread. There thou art free ! So brief a journey would
bring thee from a world where thou hast been most
wretched, to one where thou mayest still be happy!
Is there not shade enough in all this boundless forest
to hide thy heart from the gaze of Roger Chilling-
worth r

" Yes, Hester ; but only under the fellen leaves !" I Q
replied the minister, with a sad smile. ' '

" Then there is the broad pathway of the sea!" con-
tinued Hester. " It brought thee hither. If thou so
choose, it will bear thee back again. In our native
land, whether in some remote rural village, or in vast
London, — or, surely, in Germany, in France, in pleas-
ant Italy, — ^thou wouldst be beyond his power and
knowledge ! And what hast thou to do with all these
iron men, and their opinions? They have kept thy
better part in bondage too long already!"

" It cannot be !" answered the minister, listening as
if he were called upon to realize a dream. '^I am
powerless to go ! Wretched and sinful as I am, I have
had no other thought than to drag on my earthly exist-
ence in the sphere where Providence hath placed me.
Lost as my own soul is, I would still do what I may
for other human souls! I dare not quit my post,
though an unfaithful sentinel, whose sure reward is.
death and dishonor, when his dreary watch shall come
to an end !"

" Thou art crushed under this seven years* weight
of misery," replied Hester, fervently resolved to bu'^*-

THE SCASLET LETTER.

er own energy. " But thou ahalt
lee ! It alia]! not cumber thy Bte
long the forest-path ; neither ahait
> with it, if thou prefer to crosa th
ack and ruin here where H hath
e no more with it! Begin all s
austed poaeibility in the failure o:
t bo! The future is yet fiill of tria
B ia happiness to be enjoyed ! Th
e I Exchange this false life of thii
le, if thy epirit summon thee to si
icher and apostle of the red men.
thy nature, — ^be a scholar and a
=8t and the most renowned of the
Preach ! Write 1 Act ! Do anyl
n and die I Give np this name o
lale, and make thyself another, t
1 as thou canst wear without fe:
shouldst thou tarry so much ai
^he torments that have so gnawe(
have made thee feeble to will a
leave thee poweriesa even to re

" cried Arthur Dimmesdale, in i
;ht, kindled by her enthusiasm, fl
ray, " thou tellest of running a rac<
ies are tottering beneath him ! I
re is not the strength or courage It
the wide, strange, difficult world, al

THE PASTOR AND HIS PARISHIONER. 263

It was the last expression of the despondency of a
broken spirit. He lacked energy to grasp the better
fortune that seemed within his reach.

He repeated the word.

" Alone, Hester !"

*' Thou shalt not go alone !" answered she, in a deep | 4
whisper. : |

Then, all was spoken I

,00D OP SUNSHINE.

lESDALE gazed into Hester's &ce
vhich hope and joy shone out, ia-

betwixt them, and a kind of horror

> had spokea what he vaguely hinted

Kak.

tie, with a mind of native courage and

long a period not merely estranged,

society, bad habituated herself to
eculation as was altogether forei^

She had wandered, without rule or
ral wilderness ; as vast, as intricate
le untamed forest, amid the gloom
e now holding a colloquy that was
, Her intellect and heart had their
1 desert places, where she roamed aa
Indian in his woods. For years past
)m this estranged point of view at
, and whatever prieste or legislators
iticising all with hardly more rev-
lian would feel for the clerical band,
be pillory, the gallows, the fireside,
le tendency of her late and fortunes

A FLOOD OF SUNSHINE. 265

had been to set her free. The scarlet letter was her
passport into regions where other women dare not
tread. Shame, Despair, Solitude! These had been
her teachers, — stem and wild ones, — and they had
made her strong, but taught her much amiss.

The minister, on the other hand, had never gone
through an experience calculated to lead him beyond
the scope of generally received laws ; although, in a
single instance, he had so fearfully transgressed one
of the most sacred of them. But this had been a sin
of passion, not of principle, nor even purpose. Since
that wretched epoch, he had watched, with morbid
zeal and minuteness, not his acts, — ^for those it was
easy to arrange, — ^but each breath of emotion, and his
every thought. At the head of the social system, as
the clergymen of that day stood, he was only the more
trammelled by its regulations, its principles, and even
its prejudices. As a priest, the framework of his order
inevitably hemmed him in. As a man who had once
sinned, but who kept his conscience all alive and pain-
fully sensitive by the fretting of an unhealed wound,
he might have been supposed safer within the line of
virtue than if he had never sinned at all.

Thus we seem to see that, as regarded Hester Prynne,
the whole seven years of outlaw and ignominy had been
little other than a preparation for this very hour. But
Arthur DimmesdaJe ! Were such a man once more to
fall, what plea could be urged in extenuation of his
trime? None; unless it avail him somewhat^ that he

THE SCABLET UETTEB.

en down by long and exquiBite i
lind was darkened and confused by
■hich harrowed it ; that, between fle<
rimiDal, and remaining as a hypoc
ight find it hard to strike the balai
nan to avoid the peril of death ani
nscrutable machinations of an enei
thia poor pilgrim, on hia dreary and desert
it, sick, miserable, there appeared a glimpse
affection and sympathy, a new life, and a
in exchange for the heavy doom which he
txpiating. And be tbe stern and sad truth
hat the breach which guilt has once made
uman soul is never, in this mortal state, re-
It may be watched and guarded ; so that the
dl not force bis way E^in into the citadel,
i even, in hia subsequent assaults, select some
lue, in preference to that where he had for-
ceeded. But there ia still the ruined wall,
it, the stealthy tread of the foe that would
ag^ his unforgott«n triumph.
uggle, if there were one, need not be de-
Let it suffice, that the clergyman resolved to
Lot alone.

all these past seven years," thought he, " I
11 one instant of peace or hope, I would yet
r the sake of that earnest of Heaven's mercy,
-since I am irrevocably doomed, — wherefore
Dt snatch the solace allowed to the condemned

A FLOOD OF SUNSHINE. 267

culprit before his execution ? Or, if this be the path
to a better life, as Hester would persuade me, I surely
give up no fairer prospect by pursuing it I Neither
can I any longer live without her companionship ; so
powerful is she to sustain, — so tender to soothe! O
Thou to whom I dare not lift mine eyes, wilt Thou yet
pardon me !'*

" Thou wilt go !" said Hester, calmly, as he met her
glance.

The decision once made, a glow of strange enjoyment
threw its flickering brightness over the trouble of his
breast. It was the exhilarating effect — upon a prisoner
just escaped from the dungeon of his own heart — of
breathing the wild, free atmosphere of an unredeemed,
unchristianized, lawless region. His spirit rose, as it
were, with a bound, and attained a nearer prospect of
the sky, than throughout all the misery which had
kept him grovelling on the earth. Of a deeply re-
ligious temperament, there was inevitably a tinge of
the devotional in his mood.

" Do I feel joy again?" cried he, wondering at him-
self. " Methought the germ of it was dead in me I O
Hester, thou art my better angel I I seem to have
flung myself— sick, sin-stained, and sorrow-blackened
— down upon these forest-leaves, and to have risen up
all made anew, and with new powers to glorify Him
that hath been merciful ! This is already the better
life! Why did we not find it sooner?"

" Let us not look back," answered Hester Prjmne.

268 THE SCABLET LETTER.

" The past is gone 1 Wherefore should we liDg<
it now ? See ! With this symbol, I undo it i
make it as it had never been I"

So speaking, she undid the clasp that fastei
scarlet letter, and, taking it from her bosom, t
to a distance among the withered leaves. The

token alighted on the hither verge of the : _.

With a hand's breadth further flight it would have
fallen into the water, and have given the little brook
another woe to carry onward, besides the unintelli^ble
tale which it still kept murmuring about. But there
lay the embroidered letter, glittering like a lost jewel,
which some ill-fated wanderer might pick up, and
thenceforth be haunted by strange phantoms of guilt,
sinkings of the heart, and unaccountable misfortune.

The stigma gone, Hester heaved a l(»ig, deep sigh,
in which the burden of shame and anguish departed
from her spirit. exquisite reliefl She had not
known the weight until she felt the freedom ! By
another impulse she took ott the formal cap that con-
fined her hair ; and down it fell upon her shoulders,
dark and rich, with at once a shadow and a light in its
abundance, and imparting the charm of softness to her
features. There played around her mouth, and beamed
out of her eyes, a radiant and tender emile, that seemed
gushing from the very heart of womanhood. A crim-
son flush was glowing on her cheek, that had been
long so pale. Her sex, her youth, and the whole rich-
ness of hei beauty, came back from what men eall the

A FLOOD OP SUNSHINE. 269

m ' III . . I . . ■ - . I . .

irrevocable past, and clustered themselves, with her
maiden hope, and a happiness before unknown, within
the magic circle of this hour. And, as if the gloom
of the earth and sky had been but the effluence of
these two mortal hearts, it vanished with their sorrow.
All at once, as with a sudden smile of heaven, forth
burst the sunshine, pouring a very flood into the ob-
scure forest, gladdening each green leaf, transmuting
the yellow fallen ones to gold, and gleaming adown the
gray trunks of the solemn trees. The objects that had
made a shadow hitherto, embodied the brightness now.
The course of the little brook might be traced by its
merry gleam afar into the wood's heart of mystery,
which had become a mystery of joy.

Such was the sympathy of Nature — that wild, heathen
Nature of the forest, never subjugated by human law,
nor illumined by higher truth — with the bliss of these
two spirits! Love, whether newly bom, or aroused
from a death-like slumber, must always create a sun-
shine, filling the heart so full of radiance, that it over-
flows upon the outward world. Had the forest still kept
its gloom, it would have been bright in Hester's eyes,
and bright in Arthur Dimmesdale's !

Hester looked at him with the thrill of another

joy-

"Thou must know Pearl!" said she. "Our little
Pearl! Thou hast seen her, — yes, I know it! — ^but
thou wilt see her now with other eyes. She is a strange
child ! I hardly comprehend her ! But thou wilt lo^'

THE SCARLET LETTER.

OB I do, and wilt advise me how to

lou think tbe child will be glad
1 the minister, eontewbat uneasily.
I from children, because they oft
. backwardness to be familiar wil
jeen afraid of little Pearl ! "
t was aad ! " answered the motbt
e thee dearly, and thou her. Sht
call her f Pearl ! Pearl I "
e child," observed the minister. "YiMider
ling in a streak of sunshine, a good way off,
r side of the brook. So thou thinkest the
jve me ? "

miled, and again called to Pearl, who was
ome distance, as the minister had described
'right-apparelled vision, in a sunbeam which
pon her through an arch of boughs. The
d to and iro, making net figure dim or dis-
like a real child, now like a child's spirit,
ilendor went and came again. She heard
's voice, and approached slowly through

d not found the hour pass wearisomely,
mother sat talking with the clergyman.
black forest— stern as it showed itself to
)rought the guilt and troubles of the world
)m — became the playmate of the lonely in-
1 as it knew how. Sombre as it was, it put

A FLOOD OF SUNSHINE. 271

on the kindest of its moods to welcome her. It oiTered
her the partridge-berries, the growth of the preceding
autumn, but ripening only in the spring, and now red
as drops of blood upon the withered leaves. These
Pearl gathered, and was pleased with their wild flavor.
The small denizens of the wilderness hardly took pains
to move out of her path. A partridge, indeed, with a
brood of ten behind her, ran forward threateningly,
but soon repented of her fierceness, and clucked to her
young ones not to be afraid. A pigeon, alone on a low
branch, allowed Pearl to come beneath, and uttered a
jsound as much of greeting as alarm. A squirrel, &om
the lofty depths of his domestic tree, chattered either in
anger or merriment, — for a squirrel is such a choleric
and humorous little personage that it is hard to distin-
guish between his moods, — so he chattered at the child,
and flung down a nut upon her head. It was a last
year's nut, and already gnawed by his sharp tooth. A
fox, startled from his sleep by her light footstep on
the leaves, looked inquisitively at Pearl, as doubting
whether it wore better to steal off, or renew his nap on
the same spot. A wolf, it is said, — but here the tale
has surely lapsed into the improbable, — came up, and
smelt of Pearl's robe, and offered his savage head to
be patted by her hand. The truth seems to be, how-
ever, that the mother-forest, and these wild things
which it nourished, all recognized a kindred wildness
in the human child.
And she was gentler here than in the grassy-ma^
18 ^

272 THE SCARLET LETTER,

g^ed Btreeta of the settlement, or in her mother's cot-
t^e. The flowers appeared to know it ; and one and
aDother whispered as she passed, "Adorn thyself with
me, thou beautiful child, adorn thyself with me !" —
and, to please them. Pearl gathered the violets, and
aoemonea, and columbines, and some twigs of the
freshest green, which the old trees held down before
her eyes. With these she decorated her hair and her
young waist, and beoame a nymph-child, or an intant
dryad, or whatever else was in cloeest sympathy with
the antique wood. In such guise had Pearl adorned
herself, when she heard her mother's voice, and cama
slowly back.
Slowly ; for she saw the olergyman 1

XIX.

THE CHILD AT THE BROOK-SIDE.

"rpHOU wilt love her dearly," repeated Hester
-L Pryune, as she and the minister sat watching
little Pearl. "Dost thou not think her beautiful?
And see with what natural skill she has made those
simple flowers adorn her ! Had she gathered pearls,
and diamonds, and rubies, in the wood, they could not
have become her better. She is a splendid child I But
I know whose brow she has !"

"Dost thou know, Hester," said Arthur Dimmes-
dale, with an unquiet smile, "that this dear child,
tripping about always at thy side, hath caused me
many an alarm? Methought — O Hester, what a
thought is that, and how terrible to dread it ! — ^that
my own features were partly repeated in her face, and
so strikingly that the world might see them ! But she
is mostly thine I"

" No, no I Not mostly !" answered the mother, with
a tender smile. " A little longer, and thou needest not
to be afraid to trace whose child she is. But how
strangely beautiful she looks, with those wild flowers
in her hair I It is as if one of the fairies, whom we

273

274 THE SCAHLET LETTEIL

left ia our deal old England, had decked her out
meet us."

It was with a feeling which neither of them had ever
before experienced that they sat and watched Pearl's
Blow advance. In her was visible the tie that united
them. She had been offered t« the world, thfse Bcven
years past, as the living hieroglyphic, in which was
revealed the secret they so darkly sought to hide, — all
written in this symbol, — all plainly manifest, — had
there been a prophet or magician skilled to read the
character of flame ! And Pearl was the oneness of
their being. Be the foregone evil what it might, how
could they doubt that their earthly lives and future
destinies were conjoined, when they beheld at once the
material union, and the spiritual idea, in whom they
met, and were to dwell immortally together? Thoughts
like these — and perhaps other thoughts, which they did
not acknowledge or define — threw an awe about the
child, as she came onward.

" Let her see nothing strange — no passion nor eager-
ness — in thy way of accosting her," whispered Heater.
" Our Pearl is a fitful and fentastic little elf, some-
times. Especially, she is seldom tolerant of emotion,
when she does not ftilly comprehend the why and
wherefore. But the child hath strong affections I She
loves me, and will love thee I"

" Thou canst not think," said the minister, glancing
aside at Hester Prynne, "how my heart dreads this
interview, and yearns for itl But, in truth, as I al-

THE CHILD AT THE BROOK-SIDE. 275

ready told thee, children are not readily won to b«
familiar with me. They will not climb my knee, noi
prattle in my ear, nor answer to my smile ; but stand
apart, and eye me strangely. Even little babes, when
I take them in my arms, weep bitterly. Yet Pearl,
twice in her little lifetime, hath been kind to me I The
first time, — thou knowest it well ! The last was when
thou ledst her with thee to the house of yonder stem
old Governor."

"And thou didst plead so bravely in her behalf and
mine !" answered the mother. " I remember it ; and so
shall little Pearl. Fear nothing I She may be strange
and shy at first, but will soon learn to love thee I"

By this time Pearl had reached the margin of the
brook, and stood on the further side, gazing silently at
Hester and the clergyman, who still sat together on the
mossy tree-trunk, waiting to receive her. Just where
she had paused, the brook chanced to form a pool, so
smooth and quiet that it reflected a perfect image of
her little figure, with all the brilliant picturesqueness
of her beauty, in its adornment of flowers and wreathed
foliage, but more refined and spiritualized than the
reality. This image, so nearly identical with the Jiv-
ing Pearl, seemed to communicate somewhat of its own
shadowy and intangible quality to the child herself.
It was strange, the way in which Pearl stood, looking
so steadfastly at them through the dim medium of the
forest-gloom; herself, meanwhile, all glorified with a
ray of sunshine, that was attracted thitherward as by

'HE SCARLET LETTEB.

thy. In the brook beneath et
Lodier and the same, — with likewise ita
Tht. Hester felt herself, in some indis-
lizing moDiier, estranged from Pearl;
a her lonely ramble through the forest,
i of the sphere in which she and her
getber, and was now vainly seeking to

ith truth and error in the impre^ion ;
mother were estranged, but through
ot Pearl's. Since the latter rambled

another inmate had been admitted
; of the mother's feelings, and so modi-
of them all, that Pearl, the returning

not find her wonted place, and hardly

trange fency," observed the sensitive
this brook is the boundary between
that thou canst never meet thy Pearl
le an elfish spirit, who, aa the legends
d taught us, is forbidden to cross a
I Pray hasten her; for this delay has
d a tremor to my nerves."
st child I" said Hester, encoun^ngly,
lut both her arms. " How slow thou
Bt thou been so sluggish before now ?
of mine, who must be thy fnend alsa
twice as much love, henceforward, as
le could give thee! Leap across the

THE CHILD AT THE BROOK-SIDE. 277

biTook, and come to us. Thou canst leap like a young
daer !"

Pearl, without responding in any manner to these
honey-sweet expressions, remained on the other side of
the brook. Now she fixed her bright, wild eyes on her
mother, now on the minister, and now included them
both in the same glance ; as if to detect and explain to
herself the relation which they bore to one another.
For some unaccountable reason, as Arthur Dimmes-
dale felt the child's eyes upon himself, his hand — ^with
that gesture so habitual as to have become involuntary
— stole over his heart. At length, assuming a singular
air of authority. Pearl stretched out her hand, with
the small forefinger extended, and pointing evidently
towards her mother's breast. And beneath, in the mir-
ror of the brook, there was the flower-girdled and sunny
image of little Pearl, pointing her small forefinger too.

"Thou strange child, why dost thou not come to
me?" exclaimed Hester.

Pearl still pointed with her forefinger ; and a frown
gathered on her brow ; the more impressive from the
childish, the almost baby-like, aspect of the features
that conveyed it. As her mother still kept beckoning
to her, and arraying her face in a holiday suit of un-
accustomed smiles, the child stamped her foot with a
yet more imperious look and gesture. In the brook,
again, was the fantastic beauty of the image, with its
reflected frown, its pointed finger, and imperious ges-
ture, giving emphasis to the aspect of little PearL

278 THE SCARLET LETTER.

II " i ■ ■ ■ ■ . I I .1 ... I IP- ^ B

"Hasten, Pearl, or I shall be angry with thee!''
cried Hester Prynne, who, however inured to such
behavior on the elf-child*s part at other seasons, was
naturally anxious for a more seemly deportment now.
" Leap across the brook, naughty child, and run hither!
Else I must come to thee !"

But Pearl, not a whit startled at her mother's threats,
any more than mollified by her entreaties, now suddenly
burst into a fit of passion, gesticulating violently, and
throwing her small figure into the most extravagant
contortions. She accompanied this wild outbreak with
piercing shrieks, which the woods reverberated on all
sides; so that, alone as she was in her childish and
unreasonable wrath, it seemed as if a hidden multi-
tude were lending her their sympathy and encourage-
ment. Seen in the brook, once more, was the shadowy
wrath of Pearl's image, crowned and girdled with
flowers, but stamping its foot, wildly gesticulating,
and, in the midst of all, still pointing its small fore-
finger at Hester's bosom!

'* I see what ails the child," whispered Hester to the
clergyman, and turning pale in spite of a strong eflTort
to conceal her trouble and annoyance. " Children will
not abide any, the slightest, change in the accustomed
aspect of things that are daily before their eyes. Pearl
misses something which she has always seen me wear!"

" I pray you," answered the minister, " if thou hast
any means of pacifying the child, do it forthwith!
Save it were the cankered wrath of an old witch, like

THE CHILD AT THE BROOK-SIDE. 279

Mistress Hibbins," added he, attempting to smile, " I
know nothing that I would not sooner encounter than
this passion in a child. In Pearl's young beauty, as
in the wrinkled witch, it has a preternatural effect.
Pacify her, if thou lovest me !"

Hester turned again towards Pearl, with a crimson
blush upon her cheek, a conscious glance aside at the
clergyman, and then a heavy sigh ; while, even before
she had time to speak, the blush yielded to a deadly
pallor.

" Pearl," said she, sadly, " look down at thy feet !
There I — before thee! — on the hither side of the
brook 1"

The child turned her eyes to the point indicated ;
and there lay the scarlet letter, so close upon the mar-
gin of the stream that the gold embroidery waa re-
flected in it.

" Bring it hither !" said Hester.

" Come thou and take it up !" answered Pearl.

" Was ever such a child !" observed Hester, aside to
the minister. " O, I have much to tell thee about her !
But, in very truth, she is right as regards this hateful
token. I must bear its torture yet a little longer, —
only a few days longer, — until we shall have left this
region, and look back hither as to a land which we have
dreamed of. The forest cannot hide it I The mid-ocean
shall take it from my hand, and swallow it up forever !'*

With these words, she advanced to the margin of the
brook, took up the scarlet letter, and fastened it agai

280 THE SCARLET LETTEH.

into ber bosom. Hopefully, but a moment ago, as
Hester had epokeo of drowning it in the deep sea, there
was a sense of inevitable doom upon her, as she thus
received back this deadly symbol from the hand of fat«.
She had flung it into infinite space I — she had drawn
an hour's free breath ! — and here again was the scarlet
misery, glittering on the old spot. So it ever ie, whether
thus typified or no, that an evil deed invests itsvlf with
the character of doom. Hester next gathered up tbe
heavy tresses of her hair, and confined them beneath
her cap. As if there were a withering spell in the sad
letter, her beauty, the warmth and richness of her
womanhood, departed, like fading sunshine; and a
gray shadow seemed to fall across her.

When the dreary change was wrought, she extended
her hand to Pearl.

"Dost thou know thy mother now, child?" asked
she, reproachfully, but with a subdued tone. " Wilt
thou come across the brook, and own thy mother, now
that she has her shame upon her, — now that she is
sad?"

" Yes ; now I will 1" answered tbe child, bounding
across the brook, and clasping Hester in her arms.
" Now thou art my mother indeed I And I am thy
little Pearll"

In a mood of tenderness that was not usual with her,
she drew down her mother's head, and kissed her brow
and both her cheeks. But then— by a kind of neces-
sity that always impelled this child to alloy whatever

THE CHILD AT THE BROOK-SIDE. 281

.» , ■ — . — — — — — '

comfort she might chance to give with a throb of an-
guish — ^Pearl put up her mouth, and kissed the scarlet
letter too !

" That was not kind I" said Hester. " When thou
hast shown me a little love, thou mockest me !"

" Why doth the minister sit yonder ?" asked Pearl.

"He waits to welcome thee," replied her mother.
" Come thou, and entreat his blessing I He loves thee,
my little Pearl, and loves thy mother too. Wilt thou
not love him ? Come I he longs to greet thee !"

"Doth he love us?" said Pearl, looking up, with
acute intelligence, into her mother's face. " Will he
go back with us, hand in hand, we three together, into
the town ?"

" Not now, dear child," answered Hester. " But in
days to come he will walk hand in hand with us. We
will have a home and fireside of our own ; and thou
shalt sit upon his knee ; and he will teach thee many
things, and love thee dearly. Thou wilt love him;
wilt thou not?"

"And will he always keep his hand over his heart ?"
inquired Pearl.

" Foolish child, what a question is that!" exclaimed
her mother. " Come and ask his blessing I"

But, whether influenced by the jealousy that seems
instinctive with every petted child towards a dangerous
rival, or from whatever caprice of her freakish nature,
Pearl would show no favor to the clergyman* It was
only by an exertion of force that her mother brougl

SCARLET LEITKR.

:iDg back, and manifesting her re-
'iniacee ; of which, ever since her

pOBBCBsed a singular variety, and

mobile physiognomy into a series
with a new mischief in them, each
ister — painfully embarrassed, but

might prove a talisman to admit
a kindlier regards— bent forward,

on her brow. Hereupon, Pearl
her mother, and, running to the

it, and bathed her forehead, until
was quite washed off, and diSiised
16 of the gliding water. 8he then
lently watching Hester and the
they talked together, and made

Bs were suggested by their new
lurposea soon to be fulfilled.
;ful interview had come to a close,
eft a solitude among its dark, old
beir multitudinous tongues, would
it had passed there, and no mortal

the melancholy brook would add
1 mystery with which its little heart
:dened, and whereof it still kept up
le, with not a whit more cheerful-
br ages heretofore.

I

I

XX.

THE MINISTER IN A MAZE.

AS the minister departed, in advance of Hester
J^ Prynne and little Pearl, he threw a backward
glance ; half expecting that he should discover only
some faintly traced features or outline of the mother
and the child, slowly fading into the twilight of the
woods. So great a vicissitude in his life could not at
once be received as real. But there was Hester, clad
in her gray robe, still standing beside the tree-trunk,
which some blast had overthrown a long antiquity
ago, and which time had ever since been covering
with moss, so that these two fated ones, with earth's
heaviest burden on them, might there sit down to-
gether, and find a single hour's rest and solace. And
there was Pearl, too, lightly dancing from the margin
of the brook, — ^now that the intrusive third person
was gone, — ^and taking her old place by her mother's
side. So the minister had not fallen asleep, and
dreamed !

In order to free his mind from this indistinctness and
duplicity of impression, which vexed it with a strange
disquietude, he recalled and more thoroughly defined
the plans which Hester and himself had sketched f*^*

283

284 THE SCARLET LETTEB.

their departure. It had been determined b
that the Old World, with its crowds and cities, oflered
them a more eligible shelter and concealment than the
wilds of K^ew England, or all America, with ita alter-
natives of an Indian wigwam, or the few aettlemente
of Europeans, scattered thinly along the seaboard.
Not to speak of the clei^mau's health, so inadequate
to sustain the hardshipe of a forest life, his native gifts,
bis culture, and his entire development, would aecura
him a home only in the midst of civilization and re-
finement; the higher the state, the more delicately
adapted to it the man. In furtherance of this choice,
it so happened that a ship lay in the harbor; one of
those questionable cruisers, frequent at that day, which,
without being absolutely outlaws of the deep, yet
roamed over its surface with a remarkable irresponsi*
bility of character. This vessel bad recently arrived
from the Spanish Main, and, within three days' time,
would sail for Bristol. Heater Prynne — whose voca-
tion, as a self-enlisted Sister of Charity, had brought
her acquainted with the captain and crew — could take
upon herself to secure the passage of two individuals
and a child, with all the secrecy which cireumstancea
rendered more than desirable.

The minister had inquired of Heater, with no little
interest, the precise time at which the ve^el might be
expected to depart. It would probably be on the fourth
day from the present " That is most fortunate !" he

d then said to himself. Now, why the Keverend Mr.

THE MINISTER IN A MAZE. 285

Dimmesdale considered it so very fortunate, we hesitate
to reveal. Nevertheless, — to hold nothing back from
the reader, — ^it was because, on the third day from the
present, he was to preach the Election Sermon ; and,
as such an occasion formed an honorable epoch in the
life of a New England clergyman, he could not have
chanced upon a more suitable mode and time of termi-
nating his professional career. ** At least, they shall /
say of me," thought this exemplary man, " that I leave
no public duty unperformed, nor ill performed I" Sad,
indeed, that an introspection so profound and acute as
this poor minister's should be so miserably deceived 1
We have had, and may still have, worse things to tell |
of him ; but none, we apprehend, so pitiably weak ; no \
evidence, at once so slight and irrefragable, of a subtle ;
disease, that had long since begun to eat into the real i
substance of his character. No man, for any consider- i
able period, can wear one face to himself, and another 1
to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as
to which may be the true.

The excitement of Mr. Dimmesdale's feelings, as he
returned from his interview with Hester, lent him un-
accustomed physical energy, and hurried him town-
ward at a rapid pace. The pathway among the woods
seemed wilder, more uncouth with its rude natural ob-
stacles, and less trodden by the foot of man, than he
remembered it on his outward journey. But he leaped
across the plashy places, thrust himself through the
clinging underbrush, climbed the ascent, plunged into

286 THE BCAHLE

the hollow, ftnd overcame, ii

of the track, with an uowearuiDie acMViiy mat astoD-
ished him. He could not but recall how feebly, and
with what frequent pauses for breath, he had toiled
over the same ground, only two days before. As he
drew near the town, he took au imprceeion of change
from the series of familiar objects that presented them-
selves. It seemed not yesterday, not one, nor two, but
many days, or even years ago, since he had quitted
them. There, indeed, was each former trace of the
street, as he remembered it, and all the peculiarities
of the houses, with the due multitude of gable-peaks,
and a weather-cock at every point where his memory
suggested one. Not the less, however, came this im-
portunately obtrusive sense of change. The same was
true as regarded the acquaintancea whom be met, and
all the well-known shapes of human life, about the
little town. They looked neither older nor younger
now; the beards of the aged were no whiter, nor could
the creeping babe of yesterday walk on his feet to-day ;
it was impossible to describe in what respect tbey dif-
fered from the individuals on whom he had so recently
bestowed a parting glance ; and yet the minister's deep-
est sense seemed to inform him of their mutability. A
similar impression struck him most remarkably, as he
passed under the walls of his own church. The edifice
had so very strange, and yet so familiar, an aspect,
that Mr. Dimmesdale's mind vibrated between two
!d£as; either that he had seen it only in a dream

THE MINISTER IN A MAZE. 287

hitherto, or that he was merely dreaming about it
now

This phenomenon, in the various shapes which it as-
sumed, indicated no external change, but so sudden
and important a change in the spectator of the familiar
scene, that the intervening space of a single day had
operated on his consciousness like the lapse of years.
The minister's own will, and Hester's will, and the
fate that grew between them, had wrought this trans-
formation. It was the same town as heretofore ; but
the same minister returned not from the forest. He
might have said to the friends who greeted him, — " I
am not the man for whom you take me I I left him
yonder in the forest, withdrawn into a secret dell, by
a mossy tree-trunk, and near a melancholy brook!
60, seek your minister, and see if his emaciated figure,
his thin cheek, his white, heavy, pain-wrinkled brow,
be not flung down there, like a cast-off garment !" His
friends, no doubt, would still have insisted with him, —
" Thou art thyself the man I" but the error would have
been their own, not his.

Before Mr. Dimmesdale reached home, his inner man
gave him other evidences of a revolution in the sphere
of thought and feeling. In truth, nothing short of a
total change of dynasty and moral code, in that interior
kingdom, was adequate to account for the impulses
now communicated to the unfortunate and startled
minister. At every step he was incited to do some
strange, wild, wicked thing or other, with a sense that
19

THE SCARLET LETTEB.

ODce involuDtary and intentional ; in
', yet growing out of a profounder self
I opposed the impulse. For instance,
hia own deacons. The good old man
with the paternal affection and patri-
I, which his venerable age, his upright
Iter, and his station in the Church, en-
se; and, conjoined with this, the deep,
^iog respect, which the minister's pro-
rivate claims alike demanded. Never
re beautiful example of how the majesty
dom may comport with the obeisance
joined upon it, as from a lower social
:rior order of endowment, towards S
during a conversation of some two or

between the Reverend Mr. Dimmea-
sxcellent and hoary-headed deacon, it
! most careful self-control that the for-
lin from uttering certain blasphemous
: rose into his mind, respecting the corn-
He absolutely trembled and turned
st his tongue should w^ itself, in utter-
orrible matters, and plead his own con-
ag, without his having feirly given it.
this terror in his heart, he could hardly

to imagine how tlie sanctified old patri-
rould have been petrified by his minis-

er incident of the same nature. Hur>

THE MINISTER IN A MAZE. 289

rying along the street, the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale
encountered the eldest female member of his church ;
a most pious and exemplary old dame ; poor, widowed,
lonely, and with a heart as full of reminiscences about
her dead husband and children, and her dead friends
of long ago, as a burial-ground is full of storied grave-
stones. Yet all this, which w^ould else have been such
heavy sorrow, was made almost a solemn joy to her
devout old soul, by religious consolations and the truths
of Scripture, wherewith she had fed herself continually
for more than thirty years. And, since Mr. Dimmes-
dale had taken her in charge, the good grandam's chief
earthly comfort — ^which, unless it had been likewise a
heavenly comfort, could have been none at all — was to
meet her pastor, whether casually, or of set purpose,
and be refreshed with a word of warm, fragrant,
heaven-breathing Gospel truth, from his beloved lips,
into her dulled, but rapturously attentive ear. But,
on this occasion, up to the moment of putting his lips
to the old woman's ear, Mr. Dimmesdale, as the great
enemy of souls would have it, could recall no text of
Scripture, nor aught else, except a brief, pithy, and,
as it then appeared to him, unanswerable argument
against the immortality of the human soul. The in-
stillment thereof into her mind would probably have
caused this aged sister to drop down dead, at once, as
by the effect of an intensely poisonous infusion. What
he really did whisper, the minister could never after-
wards recollect. There was, perhaps, a fortunate dis-

THE SCARLET LErtTER.

lis utterance, which failed to impart any dis-

to the good widow's comprehension, or which
36 interpreted after a method of its own. As-
a the minister looked back, he beheld ap ex-i
>f divine gratitude and ecstasy that seemed
shine of the celestial city on her fece, ao

and ashy pale.

a third instance. Aiter parting from the old
ember, he met the youngeet Biat^r of them
fas a maiden newly won — and won by the

Mr. Dimmesdale's own sermon, ou the Sab-
r his vigil — to barter the transitory pleasures
rid for the heavenly hope, that was to assume
lubstance as life grew dark around her, and
luld gild the utter gloom with final glory,
lair and pure as a lily that had bloomed in
The minister knew well that he was him-
ined within the stainless sanctity of her heart,
ng its snowy curtains about his image, im-
I religion the warmth of love, and to love a
purity. 8atan, that afternoon, had surely
»or young ^rl away from her mother's side,
wn her into the pathway of this sorely
or — shall we not rather say? — this lost and

man. As she drew nigh, the arch-fiend
. him to condense into small compass and
her tender bosom a germ of evil that would
) blossom darkly soon, and bear black fruit

Such was his sense of power over this Tirgin

THE MINISTER IN A MAZE. 291

80ul, trusting him as she did, that the minister felt po-
tent to blight all the field of innocence with but one
wicked look, and develop all its opposite with but a
word. So — with a mightier struggle than he had yet
sustained — ^he held his Geneva cloak before his face,
and hurried onward, making no sign of recognition,
and leaving the young sister to digest his rudeness as
she might. She ransacked her conscience, — which was
full of harmless little matters, like her pocket or her
work-bag, — and took herself to task, poor thing ! for a
thousand imaginary faults ; and went about her house-
hold duties with swollen eyelids the next morning.

Before the minister had time to celebrate his victory
over this last temptation, he was conscious of another
impulse, more ludicrous, and almost as horrible. It
was, — ^we blush to tell it, — ^it was to stop short in the
road, and teach some very wicked words to a knot of
little Puritan children who were playing there, and
had but just begun to talk. Denying himself this
freak, as unworthy of his cloth, he met a drunken
seaman, one of the ship's crew from the Spanish Main.
And, here, since he had so valiantly forborne all other
wickedness, poor Mr. Dimmesdale longed, at least, to
shake hands with the tarry blackguard, and recreate
himself with a few improper jests, such as dissolute
sailors so abound with, and a volley of good, round,
solid, satisfactory, and heaven-defying oaths ! It was
not so much a better principle, as partly his natural
good taste, and still more his buckramed habit

I SCABLET LET]

bat carried him

. haunte and tern]

iself, at length, pi .^g, .„ ...^ ......^.,

and against hie forehead. "Am I
en over utterly to the fiend? Did
with him in the forest, and eiga it
Vnd does he now summon me to ita
gesting the performance of every
bis most foul imagination can con-

ivhen the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale
th himself, and struck his forehead
Mistress Hibbins, the reputed witch-
ive been passing by. She made a
'ance ; having on a high head-dress,
ilvet, and a ruff done up with the
ch, of which Ann Turner, her espe-
ight her the secret, before this last
ien hanged for Sir Thomas Over-
iVhether the vitch had read the
s, or no, she came to a full stop,
Qto his face, smiled craftily, and —
to converse with clergymen — b^;an

Sir, you have made a visit into the

the witch-lady, nodding her high

"The next time, I pray you to

' low me only a tiair warning, and I shall be proud to

THE MINISTER IN A MAZE. 293

bear you company. Without taking overmuch upon
myself, my good word will go far towards gaining any
strange gentleman a fair reception from yonder poten-
tate you wot of I"

" I profess, madam," answered the clergyman, with
a grave obeisance, such as the lady's rank demanded,
and his own good-breeding made imperative, — " I pro-
fess, on my conscience and character, that I am utterly
bewildered as touching the purport of your words ! I
went not into the forest to seek a potentate; neither do
I, at any future time, design a visit thither, with a view
to gaining the favor of such personage. My one suffi-
cient object was to greet that pious friend of mine, the
Apostle Eliot, and rejoice with him over the many
precious souls he hath won from heathendom I"

" Ha, ha, ha I" cackled the old witch-lady, still nod-
ding her high head-dress at the minister. " Well, well,
we must needs talk thus in the daytime ! You carry
it off like an old hand I But at midnight, and in the
forest, we shall have other talk together I"

She passed on with her aged stateliness, but often
turning back her head and smiling at him, like one
willing to recognize a secret intimacy of connection.

" Have I then sold myself," thought the minister, " to
the fiend whom, if men say true, this yellow-starched
and velveted old hag has chosen for her prince and
master I"

The wretched minister! He had made a bargain
very like it I Tempted by a dream of happiness, ^

TOE SCARLETT JX

led himself, with deliberate choice, as ha had
ne before, to what he knew waa deadly sin.

iufectioua poison of that ain had been thus
[ifTuaed throughout hia moral system. It had
all blessed impulses, and awakened into vivid
hole brotherhood of bad ones. Scorn, bitter-
irovoked malignity, gratuitous desire of ill,
if whatever was good and holy, all awoke, to
en while they frightened him. AaA his en-
rith old Mistress Hibbius, if it were a real in-
d but show his sympathy and fellowship with
lortals, and the world of perverted apirits.
d, by this time, reached his dwelling, on the
le burial-ground, and, haateuing up the stairs,
ge in his study, The minister was glad to
ihed this shelter, without first betraying him-
e world by any of those strange and wicked
ties to which he had been continually im-
lile passing through the streets- He entered
tomed room, and looked-around him on its
i windows, its fireplace, and the tapestried
of the walls, with the same perception of
ee that had haunted him throughout his
n the foreat-dell into the town, and thither-
[ere he had studied and written ; here, gone
fast and vigil, and come forth half alive ;
ren to pray ; here, borne a hundred thousand

There was the Bible, in its rich old Hebrew,
^^^«XB and the Prophets speaking to him, and

THE MINISTER IN A MAZE. 295

God's voice through all I There, on the table, with
the inky pen beside it, was an unfinished sermon, with
a sentence broken in the midst, where his thoughts
had ceased to gush out upon the page, two days be-
fore. He knew that it was himself, the thin and white-
cheeked minister, who had done and sufiered these
things, and written thus far into the Election Sermon I
But he seemed to stand apart, and eye this former self
with scornfiil, pitying, but half-envious curiosity. That
self was gone. Another man had returned out of the
forest ; a wiser one ; with a knowledge of hidden mys-
teries which the simplicity of the former never could
have reached. A bitter kind of knowledge that I

While occupied with these reflections, a knock came
at the door of the study, and the minister said, " Come
in 1" — not wholly devoid of an idea that he might be-
hold an evil spirit. And so he did 1 It was old Roger
Chillingworth that entered. The minister stood, white
and speechless, with one hand on the Hebrew Scriptures
and the other spread upon his breast.

" Welcome home, reverend Sir," said the physician.
" And how found you that godly man, the Apostle Eliot ?
But methinks, dear Sir, you look pale ; as if the travel
through the wilderness had been too sore for you. Will
not my aid be requisite to put you in heart and strength
to preach your Election Sermon ?"

" Nay, I think not so," rejoined the Reverend Mr.
Dimmesdale. " My journey, and the sight of the holy
Apostle yonder, and the free air which I have breath ^

lRLET letter,

ter BO ]oDg conSnement in ray
i no more of your dnige, my
though they be, and admin-
and."

Thillingworth was looking at the
ind intent regard of a phyeiciaQ
t, in spite of this outward show,
nvinced of the old man's know-
ifident BUBpicion, with respect to
Hester Prynne. The phyrician
! minister's regard, he was no
, but his bitterest enemy. So
ould appear natural that a part
1. It ia singular, however, how
I before words embody things ;
wo persons, who choose to avoid
pproach its very verge, and re-
it. Thus the minister felt no
sr Cbilliogworth would touch,
the real poaition which they
aother. Yet did the physician,
rightfully near the secret.
" said he, " that you use my ,
'erily, dear Sir, we must take
ng and vigorous for this occa-
Bcourse. The people look for
ipprehending that another year
id their pastor gone."
Id," replied the minister, vith

THE MINISTER IN A MAZE. 297

pious resignation. " Heaven grant it be a better one ;
for, in good sooth, I hardly think to tarry with my
flock through the flitting seasons of another year I
But, touching your medicine, kind Sir, in my present
frame of body, I need it not."

" I joy to hear it," answered the physician. " It may
be that my remedies, so long administered in vain, be-
gin now to take due efiect. Happy man were I, and
well deserving of New England's gratitude, could I
achieve this cure!"

" I thank you from my heart, most watchful friend,"
said the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale, with a solemn
smile. " I thank you, and can but requite your good
deeds with my prayers."

"A good man's prayers are golden recompense!"
rejoined old Roger Chillingworth, as he took his leave.
" Yea, they are the current gold coin of the New Jeru-
salem, with the King's own mint-mark on them I"

Left alone, the minister summoned a servant of the
house, and requested food, which, being set before him,
he ate with ravenous appetite. Then, flinging the
already written pages of the Election Sermon into the
fire, he forthwith began another, which he wrote with
such an impulsive flow of thought and emotion, that
Se fancied himself inspired ; and only wondered that
Heaven should see fit to transmit the grand and solemn
music of its oracles through so foul an organ-pipe as he.
However, leaving that mystery to solve itself, or go un-
solved forever, he drove his task onward, with earnest

SCARIiBT U

Thaa the ql
, and he can
lushing, thro

a golden bea

le minister's bedazzled eyes. There
still between his fingers, and a vaat,
of written space behind him 1

XXI.

THE NEW ENGLAND HOLIDAY.

BETIMES in the morning of the day on which the
new Governor was to receive his office at the hands
of the people, Hester Prynne and little Pearl came into
the market-place. It was already thronged with the
craftsmen and other plebeian inhabitants of the town,
in considerable numbers ; among whom, likevrise, were
many rough figures, whose attire of deer-skins marked
them as belonging to some of the forest settlements
which surrounded the little metropolis of the colony.
On this public holiday, as on all other occasions, for
seven years past, Hester was clad in a garment of
coarse gray cloth. Not more by its hue than by some
indescribable peculiarity in its fashion, it had the effect
of making her fade personally out of sight and outline ;
while, again, the scarlet letter brought her back from
this twilight indistinctness, and revealed her under the
moral aspect of its own illumination. Her face, so long
familiar to the townspeople, showed the marble quietude
which they were accustomed to behold there. It was
like a mask ; or, rather, like the frozen calmness of a
dead woman's features ; owing this dreary resemblance

299

300 THE SCARLET LETTER.

to the fact that Hester was actually dead, in respect to
any claim of sympathy, and had departed out of the
world with which she still seemed to mingle.

It might be, on this one day, that there was an ex-
pression unseen before, nor, indeed, vivid enough to
be detected now; unless some pretematurally gifted
observer should have first read the heart, and have
afterwards sought a corresponding development in the
countenance and mien. Such a spiritual seer might
have conceived, that, after sustaining the gaze of the
multitude through seven miserable years as a necessity,
a penance, and something which it was a stern religion
to endure, she now, for one last time more, encountered
it freely and voluntarily, in order to convert what had
so long been agony into a kind of triumph. " Look
your last on the scarlet letter and its wearer !" — the
people's victim and life-long bond-slave, as they fan-
cied her, might say to them. " Yet a little while, and
she will be beyond your reach ! A few hours longer,
and the deep,, mysterious ocean will quench and hide
forever the symbol which ye have caused to burn upon
her bosom !" Nor were it an inconsistency too im-
probable to be assigned to human nature, should we
suppose a feeling of regret in Hester's mind, at the
moment when she was about to win her freedom from
the pain which had been thus deeply incorporated
with her being. Might there not be an irresistible de-
sire to quaff a last, long, breathless draught of the cup
of wormwood and aloes, with which nearly all her

THE NEW ENGLAND HOLIDAY. 301

f

years of womanhood had been perpetually flavored ? j
The wine of life, henceforth to be presented to her lips, \ ,
must be indeed rich, delicious, and exhilarating, in its \ ^
chased and golden beaker ; or else leave an inevitable \
and weary languor, after the lees of bitterness where- ;
with she had been drugged, as with a cordial of in-
tensest potency.

Pearl was decked out with airy gayety. It would
have been impossible to guess that this bright and
sunny apparition owed its existence to the shape of
gloomy gray; or that a fancy, at once so gorgeous
and so delicate as must have been requisite to con-
trive the child's apparel, was the same that had
achieved a task perhaps more difficult, in imparting
so distinct a peculiarity to Hester's simple robe. The
dress, so proper was it to little Pearl, seemed an efflu-
ence, or inevitable development and outward mani-
festation of her character, no more to be separated
from her than the many-hued brilliancy from a but-
terfly's wing, or the painted glory from the leaf of a
bright flower. As with these, so with the child ; her
garb was all of one idea with her nature. On this
eventful day, moreover, there was a certain singular
inquietude and excitement in her mood, resembling
nothing so much as the shimmer of a diamond, that
sparkles and flashes with the varied throbbings of the
breast on which it is displayed. Children have always
a sympathy in the agitations of those connected with
them ; always, especially, a sense of any trouble or im-

302 THE 8CABLBT LBTTfiB.

pending revolution, of whatever kind, in do

cumstances ; and therefore Pearl, who waa i

her mother's unquiet bosom, betrayed, by

dance of her spirits, the emotions which none could

detect iu the marble passiveness of Hester's brow.

Thia effervescence made her flit with a birdlike move-
ment, rather than walk by her mother's side. She broke
continually into shouts of a wild, inarticulate, and some-
times piercing music. When they reached the market-
place, she became still more restless, on perceiving the
etir and bustle that enlivened the spot ; for it was
usually more like the broad and lonesome green before
a village meeting-house, than the centre of a town's

" Why, what is this, mother ?" cried she. " Where-
fore have all the people left their work to-day ? Is it a
play-day for the whole world? See, there is the black-
smith ! He has washed his sooty face, and put on his
Sabbath-day clothes, and looks as if he would gladly be
merry, if any kind body would only teach him how !
And there is Master Brackett, the old jailer, nodding
and smiling at me. Why does he do so, mother?"

" He remembers thee a little babe, my child," an-
swered Hester.

" He should not nod and smile at me, for all that, —
the black, grim, ugly-eyed old man I" said Pearl. " He
may nod at thee, if he will ; for thou art clad in gray,
and wearest the scarlet letter. But see, mother, how
many faces of strange people, and Indians among them,

THE NEW ENGLAND HOLIDAY. 303

and sailors I What have they all come to do, here in
the market-place ?"

" They wait to see the procession pass/' said Hester.
•* For the Governor and the magistrates are to go by,
and the ministers, and all the great people and good
people, with the music and the soldiers marching be-
fore them."

''And will the minister be there?" asked Pearl.
''And will he hold out both his hands to me, as when
thou ledst me to him from the brook-side V

"He will be there, child," answered her mother.
"But he will not greet thee to-day; nor must thou
greet him."

" What a strange, sad man is he I" said the child, as
if speaking partly to herself. " In the dark night-time
he calls us to him, and holds thy hand and mine, as
when we stood with him on the scaffold yonder I And
in the deep forest, where only the old trees can hear,
and the strip of sky see it, he talks with thee, sitting
on a heap of moss I And he kisses my forehead, too,
so that the little brook would hardly wash it off I But
here, in the sunny day, and among all the people, he
knows us not ; nor must we know him I A strange, sad
man is he, with his hand always over his heart I"

"Be quiet. Pearl! Thou understandest not these
things," said her mother. " Think not now of the min-
'ister, but look about thee, and see how cheery is every-
body's face to-day. The children have come from their
scIlooIs, and the grown people from their workshops and
20

THE SCABUiT LETTER.

ID purpose to be happy. For to-day a new
nning to rule over them ; and so — as has
Btom of maDkind ever since a nation was
i — they make merry and rejoice ; as if a
Dlden year were at length to pass over the
rid!"

Hester said, in regard to the unwonted jol-
;htened the iaces of the people. Into this
of the year — as it already was, and con-
during the greater part of two centuries —
compressed whatever mirth and public joy
, allowable to human infirmity ; thereby so
g the customary cloud, that, for the space
oliday, they appeared scarcely more grave
ither communities at a period of general

trhaps exaggerate the gray or sable tinge,
uhtedly characterized the mood and man-
^. The persons now in the market-place
id not been horn to an inheritance of Furi-
They were native Englishmen, whose

lived in the sunny richness of the Eliza-
li ; a time when the life of England, viewed
maas, would appear to have been as stately,

and joyous, as the world has ever wit-
d they followed their hereditary taste, the
id settlers would have illustrated all events
iportance by bonfires, banquets, pageant-
rocessions. Kor would it have been im-

THE NEW ENGLAND HOLIDAY. 305

___^_ • '4

practicable, in the observance of majestic ceremonies,
to combine mirthful recreation with solemnity, and
give, as it were, a grotesque and brilliant embroidery
to the great robe of state, which a nation, at such
festivals, puts on. There was some shadow of an at-
tempt of this kind in the mode of celebrating the day
on which the political year of the colony commenced.
The dim reflection of a remembered splendor, the color- . ^
less and manifold diluted repetition of what they had (
beheld in proud old London, — we will not say at a |
royal coronation, but at a Lord Mayor's show, — might
be traced in the customs which our forefathers insti- ;
tuted, with reference to the annual installation of i
magistrates. The fathers and founders of the common- j
wealth — ^the statesman, the priest, and the soldier — ,
deemed it a duty then to assume the outward state I
and majesty, which, in accordance with antique style, 1
was looked upon as the proper garb of public or social
eminence. All came forth, to move in procession be-
fore the people's eye, and thus impart a needed dignity
to the simple framework of a government so newly
constructed.

Then, too, the people were countenanced, if not
encouraged, in relaxing the severe and close applica-
tion to their various modes of rugged industry, which,
at all other times, seemed of the same piece and mate-
rial with their religion. Here, it is true, were none
of the appliances which popular merriment would so
readily have found in the England of Elizabeth's time.

306 THE SCARLET LETTER.

or that of James ; — no rude shows of a theatrical kind ;
no minstrel, with his harp and legendary ballad, nor
gleeman, with an ape dancing to his music ; no juggler,
with his tricks of mimic witchcraft ; no Merry Andrew,
to stir up the multitude with jests, perhaps hundreds
of years old, but still effective, by their appeals to the
very broadest sources of mirthful sympathy. All such
professors of the several branches of jocularity would
have been sternly repressed, not only by the rigid dis-
cipline of law, but by the general sentiment which
gives law its vitality. Not the less, however, the
great, honest face of the people smiled, grimly, per-
haps, but widely too. Nor were sports wanting, such
as the colonists had witnessed, and shared in, long ago^
at the country fairs and on the village-greens of Eng-
land ; and which it was thought well to keep alive on
this new soil, for the sake of the courage and manli-
fiess that were essential in them. Wrestling-matches,
in the different fashions of Cornwall and Devonshire,
were seen here and there about the market-place ; in
one corner, there was a friendly bout at quarterstaff ;
and — ^what attracted most interest of all — on the plat-
form of the pillory, already so noted in our pages, two
masters of defence were commencing an exhibition
with the buckler and broadsword. But, much to the
disappointment of the crowd, this latter business was
broken off by the interposition of the town beadle, who
had no idea of permitting the majesty of the law to

THE NEW ENGLAND HOLIDAY. 307

be violated by such an abuse of one of its consecrated
places.

It may not be too much to affirm, on the whole, (the \
people being then in the first stages of joyless deport- \
ment, and the offspring of sires who had known how •
to be merry, in their day,) that they would compare
favorably, in point of holiday keeping, with their de-
scendants, even at so long an interval as ourselves. / 1J
Their immediate posterity, the generation next to the
early emigrants, wore the blackest shade of Puritan-
ism, and so darkened the national visage with it, that
all the subsequent years have not sufficed to clear it
up. We have yet to learn again the forgotten art of
gayety.

The picture of human life in the market-place, though
its general tint was the sad gray, brown, or black of the
English emigrants, was yet enlivened by some diversity
of hue. A party of Indians — in their savage finery of
curiously embroidered deer-skin robes, wampum-belts,
red and yellow ochre, and feathers, and armed with the
bow and arrow and stone-headed spear — stood apart,
with countenances of inflexible gravity, beyond what
even the Puritan aspect could attain. Nor, wild as were
these painted barbarians, were they the wildest feature
of the scene. This distinction could more justly be
claimed by some mariners, — a part of the crew of the
vessel from the Spanish Main, — ^who had come ashore
to see the humors of Election Day. They were rough-
looking desperadoes, with sun-blackened faces, and p^

THE SCARLET LETTER.

sity of beard ; their wide, short tro
confined about the waist by beita, often clat
rough plate of gold, and Buataining always a
and, in some instances, a sword. From bei
broad-brimmed hats of palm-leaf, gleamed i
even in good nature and merriment, had a 1
mal ferocity. They transgreaaed, without fear or scruple,
the rules of behavior that were binding on all others ;
smoking tobacco under the beadle's very ncee, although
each whiflf would have cost a townsman a shilling ; and
quaffing, at their pleasure, draughts of wine or aqua-
vitiB from pocket-flasks, which they freely tendered to
the gaping crowd around them. It remarkably charac-
terized the incomplete morality of the age, rigid as we
call it, that a license was allowed the seafaring class,
not merely for their freaks on shore, but for far more
desperate deeds on their proper element The sailor of
that day would go near to be arraigned as a pirate in
our own. There could be little doubt, for instance,
that this very ship's crew, though no unfavorable
specimens of the nautical brotherhood, had been
guilty, as we should phrase it, of depredations on the
Spanish commerce, such as would have perilled all
their necks in a modem court of justice.

But the sea, in those old times, heaved, swelled, and
foamed, very much at its own will, or subject only to
the tempestuous wind, with hardly any attempts at
regulation by human law. The buccaneer on the
-"ave might relinquish his calling, and become at once.

THE NEW ENGLAND HOLIDAY. 309

if he chose, a man of probity and piety on land ; nor,
even in the full career of his reckless life, was he re-
garded as a personage with whom it was disreputable
to traffic, or casually associate. Thus, the Puritan
elders, in their black cloaks, starched bands, and
steeple-crowned hats, smiled not unbenignantly at the
clamor and rude deportment of these jolly seafaring
men ; and it excited neither surprise nor animadver-
sion, when so reputable a citizen as old Boger Chil-
lingworth, the physician, was seen to enter the market-
place, in close and familiar talk with the commander
of the questionable vessel.

The latter was by far the most showy and gallant
figure, so far as apparel went, anywhere to be seen
among the multitude. He wore a profusion of ribbons
on his garment, and gold lace on his hat, which was
also encircled by a gold chain, and surmounted with a
feather. There was a sword at his side, and a sword-
cut on his forehead, wbich, by the arrangement of his
hair, he seemed anxious rather to display than hide.
A landsman could hardly have worn this garb and
shown this face, and worn and shown them both with *
such a galliard air, without undergoing stem question'
before a magistrate, and probably incurring fine or
imprisonment, or perhaps an exhibition in the stocks.
As regarded the shipmaster, however, all was looked
upon as pertaining to the character, as to a fish his
glistening scales.

After parting from the physician, the commander of

310 THE SCARLET LETTER.

■ ' ' ■ - ■ »

the Bristol ship strolled idly through the market-place;
until, happening to approach the spot where Hester
Prynne was standing, he appeared to recognize, and
did not hesitate to address her. As was usually the
case wherever Hester stood, a small vacant area — a
sort of magic circle — ^had formed itself about her, into
which, though the people were elbowing one another
at a little distance, none ventured, or felt disposed to
intrude. It was a forcible type of the moral solitude
in which the scarlet letter enveloped its fated wearer ;
partly by her own reserve, and partly by the instinct-
ive, though no longer so unkindly, withdrawal of her
fellow-creatures. Now, if never before, it answered a
good purpose, by enabling Hester and the seaman to
speak together without risk of being overheard ; and
80 changed was Hester Prynne's repute before the
public, that the matron in town most eminent for
rigid morality could not have held such intercourse
with less result of scandal than herself.

" So, mistress," said the mariner, " I must bid the
steward make ready one more berth than you bar-
gained for! No fear of scurvy or ship-fever, this
voyage ! What with the ship's surgeon and this other
doctor, our only danger will be from drug or pill ;
more by token, as there is a lot of apothecary's stuff
aboard, which I traded for with a Spanish vessel."

" What mean you ?" inquired Hester, startled more
than she permitted to appear. "Have you another
™»sBenger?"

THE NEW ENGLAND HOLIDAY. 311

" Why, know you not," cried the shipmaster, " that
this physician here — Chillingworth, he calk himself—.
is minded to try my cabin-fare with you? Ay, ay,
you must have known it ; for he tells me he is of your
party, and a close friend to the gentleman you spoke
of — he that is in peril from these sour old Puritan
rulers !"

" They know each other well, indeed," replied Hes-
ter, with a mien of calmness, though in the utmost con-
sternation. " They have long dwelt together."

Nothing further passed between the mariner and
Hester Prynne. But, at that instant, she beheld old
Roger Chillingworth himself, standing in the remotest
corner of the market-place, and smiling on her; a
smile which — across the wide and bustling square, and
through all the talk and laughter, and various thoughts,
moods, and interests of the crowd — conveyed secret
and fearful meaning.

THE PROCESSION.

BEFORE Hest«r Prynne could call
thoughts and consider what was prac

done in this new and startling aspect o:
Bound of military music was heard appro
a coDtiguoua street It denoted the adi
procession of magistrates and citizens, oi
wards the meeting-house ; where, in com
a custom thus early established, and e\
served, the Eeverend Mr. Dimmeedale w
an Election Sermon,

Soon the head of the procession showed
slow and stately march, turning a comer,
its way across the market-place. First car
It comprised a variety of instruments, pe
fectly adapted to one another, and pla
great skill; but yet attaining the grea
which the harmony of drum and clan
itself to the multitude, — that of impart!
and more heroic air to the scene of lift
before the eye. Little Pearl at first clappi
but then lost, for an instant, the restl
that had kept her in a continual efiervescc

THE PROCESSION. 313

out the morning ; she gazed silently, and seemed to be
borne upward, like a floating sea-bird, on the long
heaves and swells of sound. But she was brought
back to her former mood by the shimmer of the sun-
shine* on the weapons and bright armor of the military
company, which followed after the music, and formed
the honorary escort of the procession. This body of
soldiery — which still sustains a corporate existence,
and marches down from past ages with an ancient and
honorable fame — was composed of no mercenary mate-
rials. Its ranks were filled with gentlemen, who felt
the stirrings of martial impulse, and sought to estab-
lish a kind of College of Arms, where, as in an asso-
ciation of Knights Templars, they might learn the
science, and, so far as peaceful exercise would teach
them, the practices of war. The high estimation then
placed upon the military character might be seen in
the lofty port of each individual member of the com-
pany. Some of them, indeed, by their services in the
Low Countries and on other fields of European war-
fare, had fairly won their title to assume the name and
pomp of soldiership. The entire array, moreover, clad
in burnished steel, and with plumage nodding over
their bright morions, had a brilliancy of effect which
no modern display can aspire to equal.

And yet the men of civil eminence, who came imme-
diately behind the military escort, were better worth a
thoughtful observer's eye. Even in outward demeanor,
they showed a stamp of majesty that made the warric

THE SCABLBT LKFTEB.

stride look vulgar, if not absurd. 1
what we call talent had far less c
. now, but the maesive materialB vl
tility and dignity of character a gi
he people posseeeed, by hereditary i
'reverence; which, in their descendi
t all, exists in smaller proportion, an
ninished force, in the selection and
men. The chuige may be for good or ill,
rtly, perhaps, for both. In that old day, the
ettler on these rude shores — ^having left king,
id all degrees of awful rank behind, while
iculty and necessity of reverence were strong
>estowed it on the white hair and venerable
ge ; on long-tried integrity ; on Eiolid wisdom
olored experience; on endowments of that
. weighty order which gives the idea of per-
and comes under the general de6nition of
lity. These primitive statesmen, therefore,
■eet, Endicott, Dudley, Bellingham, and their
— who were elevated to power by the early
he people, seem to have been not often bril-
distinguished by a ponderous sobriety, rather
dty of intellect. They had fortitude and
:e, and, in time of difficulty or peril, stood up
liare of the state like a line of cliffs against
louB tide. The traits of character here indi-
! well represented in the square cast of conn- ■
ad large physical development of the new

THE PROCESSION. 315

colonial magistrates. So far as a demeanor of natural
authority was concerned, the mother country need not
have been ashamed to see these foremost men of an
actual democracy adopted into the House of Peers, or
made the Privy Council of the sovereign.

Next in order to the magistrates came the young
and eminently distinguished divine, from whose lips
the religious discourse of the anniversary was ex-
pected. His was the profession, at that era, in which
intellectual ability displayed itself far more than in
political life ; for — ^leaving a higher motive out of the
question — it offered inducements powerful enough, in
the almost worshipping respect of the community, to
win the most aspiring ambition into its service. Even
political power — ^as in the case of Increase Mather —
was within the grasp of a successful priest.

It was the observation of those who beheld him now,
that never, since Mr. Dimmesdale first set his foot on
the New England shore, had he exhibited such energy
as was seen in the gait and air with which he kept his
pace in the procession. There was no feebleness of
step, as at other times ; his frame was not bent ; nor
did his hand rest ominously upon his heart. Yet, if
the clergyman were rightly viewed, his strength seemed
not of the body. It might be spiritual, and imparted
to him by angelic ministrations. It might be the ex-
hilaration of that potent cordial, which is distilled only
in the furnace-glow of earnest and long-continued
thought Or, perchance, his sensitive temperam'*-'"

316 THE SCARLET LETTEB.

was invigorated by the loud and piercing mui
swelled lieavenward, and uplifted him on its
ing wave. Nevertheless, so attstracted was 1
it might be questioned whether Mr. Dimmesdt
heard the music. There was his body, moving ■
and with an unaccustomed force. But where
mind ? Far and deep in its own region, busyii
with preternatural activity, to marshal a proce
stately thoughts that were soon to issue theU'
80 he saw nothing, heard nothing, knew notl
what was around him ; but the Bpiritual elemt
Up the feeble &ame, and carried it along, unc<
of the burden, and converting it to spirit lik
Men of uncommon intellect, who have grown
possess this occasional power of mighty effo
which they throw the life of many days, and t
lifeless for as many more.

Hester Prynne, gazing steadfastly at the clei
felt a dreary influence come over her, but whei
whence she knew not ; unless that he seemed sc
from her own sphere, and utterly beyond hei
One glance of recognition, she had imagin©
needs pass between them. She thought of 1
forest, with its little dell of solitude, and lo
anguish, and the mossy tree-trunk, where, sittii
in hand, they had mingled their sad and pa
talk with the melancholy murmur of the broo^
deeply had they known each other then 1 J.
this the man? She hardly knew him non

THE PROCESSION. 317

moving piroudly past, enveloped, as it were, in the
rich music, with the procession of majestic and vener-
able fathers ; he, so unattainable in his worldly posi-
tion, and still more so in that far vista of his unsym-
pathizing thoughts, through which she now beheld
him I Her spirit sank with the idea that all must
have been a delusion, and that, vividly as she had
dreamed it, there could be no real bond betwixt the
clergyman and herself. And thus much of woman was
there in Hester, that she could scarcely forgive him, —
least of all now, when the heavy footstep of their ap-
proaching Fate might be heard, nearer, nearer, nearer I
— ^for being able so completely to withdraw himself from
their mutual world; while she groped darkly, and
stretched forth her cold hands, and found him not.

Pearl either saw and responded to her mother's feel-
ings, or herself felt the remoteness and intangibility that
had fallen around the minister. While the procession
passed, the child was uneasy, fluttering up and down,
like a bird on the point of taking flight When the
whole had gone by, she looked up into Hester's face.

"Mother," said she, "was that the same minister
that kissed me by the brook?"

" Hold thy peace, dear little Pearl I" whispered her \
mother. "We must not always talk in the market- j
place of what happens to us in the forest."

" I could not be sure that it was he ; so strange he
looked," continued the child. " Else I would have run
to him, and bid him kiss me now, before all the peoD.^'^ *

u/

318 THE SCARLET LETTER.

even as he did yonder among the dark old trees. What
would the minister have said, mother ? Would he have
clapped his hand over his heart, and scowled on me,
and bid me begone?"

"What should he say, Pearl," answered Hester,
" save that it was no time to kiss, and that kisses are
not to be given in the market-place ? Well for thee,
foolish child, that thou didst not speak to him !"

Another shade of the same sentiment, in reference
to Mr. Dimmesdale, was expressed by a person whose
eccentricities — or insanity, as we should term it — ^led
her to do what few of the townspeople would have ven-
tured on ; to begin a conversation with the wearer of
the scarlet letter, in public. It was Mistress Hibbins,
who, arrayed in great magnificence, with a triple ruff, a
broidered stomacher, a gown of rich velvet, and a gold-
headed cane, had come forth to see the procession. As
this ancient lady had the renown (which subsequently
cost her no less a price than her life) of being a prin-
cipal actor in all the works of necromancy that were
continually going forward, the crowd gave way before
her, and seemed to fear the touch of her garment, as
if it carried the plague among its gorgeous folds. Seen
in conjunction with Hester Prynne, — ^kindly as so many
now felt towards the latter, — the dread inspired by
Mistress Hibbins was doubled, and caused a general
movement from that part of the market-place in which
the two women stood.

" Now, what mortal imagination could conceive it 1*

THE rROCESSION. 319

whispered the old lady, confidentially, to Hester. " Yon-
der divine man I That saint on earth, as the people
uphold him to be, and as — I must needs say — he
really looks ! Who, now, that saw him pass in the pro-
cession, would think how little while it is since he went
forth out of his study, — chewing a Hebrew text of
Scripture in his mouth, I warrant, — ^to take an airing
in the forest ! Aha ! we know what that means, Hester
Prynne ! But, truly, forsooth, I find it hard to believe
him the same man. Many a church-member saw I,
walking behind the music, that has danced in the same
measure with me, when Somebody was fiddler, and, it
might be, an Indian powwow or a Lapland wizard
changing hands with us ! That is but a trifle, when a
woman knows the world. But this minister I Couldst
thou surely tell, Hester, whether he was the same man
that encountered thee on the forest-path ?'*

" Madam, I know not of what you speak," answered
Hester Prynne, feeling Mistress Hibbins to be of infirm
mind ; yet strangely startled and awe-stricken by the
confidence with which she aflSrmed a personal connec-
tion between so many persons (herself among them)
and the Evil One. " It is not for me to talk lightly
of a learned and pious minister of the Word, like the
Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale !"

" Fie, woman, fie !" cried the old lady, shaking her

finger at Hester. " Dost thou think I have been to the

forest so many times, and have yet no skill to judge

who else has been there ? Yea ; though no leaf of the
21

•\

320 THE SCARLET LETTER.

wild garlands, which they wore while they danced, be
left in their hair ! I know thee, Hester ; for I behold
the token. We may all see it in the sunshine ; and it
glows like a red flame in the dark. Thou wearest it
openly ; so there need be no question about that. But
this minister I Let me tell thee, in thine ear I When
the Black Man sees one of his own servants, signed
and sealed, so shy of owning to the bond as is the
Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale, he hath a way of ordering
matters so that the mark shall be disclosed in open
daylight to the eyes of all the world ! What is it that
the minister seeks to hide, with his hand always over
his heart ? Ha, Hester Prynne !"

" What is it, good Mistress Hibbins?" eagerly asked
little Pearl. " Hast thou seen it ?"

" No matter, darling !" responded Mistress Hibbins,
making Pearl a profound reverence. " Thou thyself
wilt see it, one time or another. They say, child, thou
art of the lineage of the Prince of the Air ! Wilt thou
ride with me, some fine night, to see thy father ? Then
thou shalt know wherefore the minister keeps his hand
over his heart 1"

Laughing so shrilly that all the market-place could
hear her, the weird old gentlewoman took her departure.

By this time the preliminary prayer had been offered
in the meeting-house, and the accents of the Reverend
Mr. Dimmesdale were heard commencing his discourse.
An irresistible feeling kept Hester near the spot. As
the sacred edifice was too much thronged to admit an-

i

THE PROCESSION. 321

^■■'■■■1 ■ ■' I.- ■■ ■ ■ ^- ■ — ■■■■■■ ^m-^m^^ , iM ■-^^■^^

other auditor, she took up her position close beside the
scaffold of the pillory. It was in sufficient proximity
to bring the whole sermon to her ears, in the shape of
an indistinct, but varied, murmur and flow of the
minister's very peculiar voice.

This vocal organ was in itself a rich endowment;
insomuch that a listener, comprehending nothing of
the language in which the preacher spoke, might still
have been swayed to and fro by the mere tone and
cadence. Like all other music, it breathed passion
and pathos, and emotions high or tender, in a tongue
native to the human heart, wherever educated, Muf-
fled as the sound was by its passage through the
church-walls, Hester Prynne listened with such in-
tentness, and sympathized so intimately, that the ser-
mon had throughout a meaning for her, entirely apart
from its indistinguishable words. These, perhaps, if
more distinctly heard, i;night have been only a grosser
medium, and have clogged the spiritual sense. Now
she caught the low undertone, as of the wind sinking
down to repose itself ; then ascended with it, as it rose
through progressive gradations of sweetness and power,
until its volume seemed to envelop her with an atmo-
sphere of awe and solemn grandeur. And yet, majestic
as the voice sometimes became, there was forever in it
an essential character of plaintiveness. A loud or low
expression of anguish, — ^the whisper, or the shriek, as
it might be conceived, of suffering humanity, that
touched a sensibility in every bosom ! At times th'**

322 THE SCARLET LETTER.

deep strain of pathos was all that could be heard^ and
scarcely heard, sighing amid a desolate silence. But
even when the minister's voice grew high and com-
manding, — ^when it gushed irrepressibly upward, —
when it assumed its utmost breadth and power, so over-
filling the church as to burst its way through the solid
walls, and diffuse itself in the open air, — still, if the
auditor listened intently, and for the purpose, he could
detect the same cry of pain. What was it ? The com-
plaint of a human heart, sorrow-laden, perchance guilty,
telling its secret, whether of guilt or sorrow, to the
great heart of mankind; beseeching its sympathy or
forgiveness, — at every moment, — in each accent, — ^and
never in vain! It was this profound and continual
undertone that gave the clergyman his most appro-
priate power.

During all this time, Hester stood, statue-like, at the
foot of the scaffold. If the minister's voice had not
kept her there, there would nevertheless have been an
inevitable magnetism in that spot, whence she. dated
the first hour of her life of ignominy. There* was a
sense within her, — too ill-defined to be made a thought,
but weighing heavily on her mind, — that her whole
orb of life, both before and after, was connected with
this spot, as ^ith the one point that gave it unity.

Little Pearl, meanwhile, had quitted her mother'^
side, and was playing at her own will about the market-
place. She made the sombre crowd cheerful by hei
erratic and glistening ray ; even as a bird of bright

THE PROCESSION. 323

■ I I i^^-^^" ■ *

plumage illuminates a whole tree of dusky foliage, by
darting to and fro, half seen and half concealed amid
the twilight of the clustering leaves. She had an un-
dulating, but, oftentimes, a sharp and irregular move-
ment. It indicated the restless vivacity of her spirit,
which to-day was doubly indefatigable in its tiptoe
dance, because it was played upon and vibrated with
her mother's disquietude. Whenever Pearl saw any-
thing to excite her ever-active and wandering curiosity,
she flew thitherward, and, as we might say, seized upon
that man or thing as her own property, so far as she
desired it ; but without yielding the minutest degree
of control over her motions in requital. The Puritans
looked on, and, if they smiled, were none the less in-
clined to pronounce the child a demon ofispring, from
the indescribable charm of beauty and eccentricity
that shone through her little figure, and sparkled with
its activity. She ran and looked the wild Indian in
the face ; and he grew conscious of a nature wilder
than his own. Thence, with native audacity, but still
with a reserve as characteristic, she flew into the midst
of a group of mariners, the swarthy-cheeked wild men
of the ocean, as the Indians were of the land; and
they gazed wonderingly and admiringly at Pearl, as
if a flake of the sea-foam had taken the shape of a
little maid, and were gifted with a soul of the sea-fire^
that flashes beneath the prow in the night-time.

One of these seafaring men — ^the shipmaster, indeed,
who had spoken to Hester Prynne — was so smitten w'***

324 THE SCARLET LETTER.

■ ■ ■ 11.11 I ^

Pearl's aspect, that he attempted to lay hands upon her,
with purpose to snatch a kiss. Finding it as impossible
to touch her as to catch a humming-bird in the air, he
took from his hat the gold chain that was twisted about
it, and threw it to the child. Pearl immediately twined
it around her neck and waist, with such happy skill,
that, once seen there, it became a part of her, and it
was difficult to imagine her without it.

" Thy mother is yonder woman with the scarlet let-
ter," said the seaman. " Wilt thou carry her a message
from me?*'

" If the message pleases me, I will," answered Pearl.

" Then tell her," rejoined he, " that I spake again
with the black-a-visaged, hump-shouldered old doctor,
and he engages to bring his friend, the gentleman she
wots of, aboard with him. So let thy mother take no
thought, save for herself and thee. Wilt thou tell her
this, thou witch-baby ?"

" Mistress Hibbins says my father is the Prince of
the Air !" cried Pearl, with a naughty smile. " If thou
callest me that ill name, I shall tell him of thee ; and
he will chase thy ship with a tempest !"

Pursuing a zigzag course across the market-place,
the child returned to her mother, and communicated
what the mariner had said. Hester's strong, calm,
steadfastly enduring spirit almost sank, at last, on be-
holding this dark and grim countenance of an inevi-
table doom, which — at the moment when a passage
«^med to open for the minister and herself out of

THE PROCESSION. 325

their labyrinth of misery — showed itself, with an un-
relenting smile, right in the midst of their path.

With her mind harassed by the terrible perplexity
in which the shipmaster's intelligence involved her,
she was also subjected to another trial. There were
many people present, from the country round about,
who had often heard of the scarlet letter, and to whom
it had been made terrific by a hundred false or exag-
gerated rumors, but who had never beheld it with their
own bodily eyes. These, after exhausting other modes
of amusement, now thronged about Hester Prynne
with rude and boorish intrusiveness. Unscrupulous
as it was, however, it could not bring them nearer
than a circuit of several yards. At that distance they
accordingly stood, fixed there by the centrifugal force
of the repugnance which the mystic symbol inspired.
The whole gang of sailors, likewise, observing the press
of spectators, and learning the purport of the scarlet
letter, came and thrust their sunburnt and desperado-
looking faces into the ring. Even the Indians were
affected by a sort of cold shadow of the white man's
curiosity, and, gliding through the crowd, fastened
their snake-like black eyes on Hester's bosom; con-
ceiving, perhaps, that the wearer of this brilliantly em-
broidered badge must needs be a personage of high
dignity among her people. Lastly, the inhabitants of
the town (their own interest in this worn-out subject
languidly reviving itself, by sympathy with what they
saw others feel) lounged idly to the same quarter, an^

326 THE SCARLET LETTER.

tormented Hester Prynne, perhaps more than all the
rest, with their cool, well-acquainted gaze at her fa-
miliar shame. Hester saw and recognized the self-
same faces of that group of matrons, who had awaited
her forthcoming from the prison-door, seven years ago ;
all save one, the youngest and only compassionate
among them, whose burial-robe she had since made.
At the final hour, when she was so soon to fling aside
the burning letter, it had strangely become the centre
of more remark and excitement, and was thus made to
scar her breast more painfully, than at any time since
the first day she put it on.

While Hester stood in that magic circle of ignominy,
where the cunning cruelty of her sentence seemed to
have fixed her forever, the admirable preacher was
looking down from the sacred pulpit upon an audience,
whose very inmost spirits had yielded to his control.
The sainted minister in the church I The woman of
the scarlet letter in the market-place ! What imagina-
tion would have been irreverent enough to surmise that
the same scorching stigma was on them both i

XXIII.

THE REVELATION OF THE SCARLET LETTER.

THE eloquent voice, on which the souls of the listen-
ing audience had been borne aloft as on the swell-
ing waves of the sea, at length came to a pause. There
was a momentary silence, profound as what should fol-
low the utterance of oracles. Then ensued a murmur
and half-hushed tumult; as if the auditors, released
from the high spell that had transported them into the
region of another's mind, were returning into them-
selves, with all their awe and wonder still heavy on
them. In a moment more, the crowd began to gush
forth from the doors of the church. Now that there
was an end, they needed other breath, more fit to sup-
port the gross and earthly life into which they relapsed,
than that atmosphere which the preacher had converted
into words of flame, and had burdened with the rich
fragrance of his thought.

In the open air their rapture broke into speech.
The street and the market-place absolutely babbled,
from side to side, with applauses of the minister. His
hearers could not rest until they had told one another
of what each knew better than he could tell or hep"

328 THE SCARLET LETTER. *

According to their united testimony, never had man
spoken in so wise, so high, and so holy a spirit, as he
that spake this day ; nor had inspiration ever breathed
through mortal lips more evidently than it did through
his. Its influence could be seen, as it were, descending
upon him, and possessing him, and continually lifting
him out of the written discourse that lay before him,
and filling him with ideas that must have been as mar-
vellous to himself as to his audience. His subject, it
appeared, had been the relation between the Deity
and the communities of mankind, with a special refer-
ence to the New England which they were here planting
in the wilderness. And, as he drew towards the close, a
spirit as of prophecy had come upon him, constraining
him to its purpose as mightily as the old prophets of
Israel were constrained ; only with this difference, that,
whereas the Jewish seers had denounced judgments and
ruin on their country, it was his mission to foretell a
high and glorious destiny for the newly gathered people
of the liord. But, throughout it all, and through the
whole discourse, there had been a certain deep, sad
undertone of pathos, which could not be interpreted
otherwise than as the natural regret of one soon to pass
away. Yes; their minister whom they so loved—
and who so loved them all, that he could not depart
heavenward without a sigh — ^had the foreboding of un-
timely death upon him, and would soon leave them in
their tears I This idea of his transitory stay on earth
<*fl ve the last emphasis to the efiect which the preacher

REVELATION OF THE SCARLET LETTER. 329

had produced ; it was as if an aogel, in his passage to
the skies, had shaken his bright wings over the people
for an instant, — at once a shadow and a splendor, —
and had shed down a shower of golden truths upon
them.

Thus, there had come to the Reverend Mr. Dim-
mesdale — as to most men, in their various spheres,
though seldom recognized until they see it far behind
them — an epoch of life more brilliant and full of tri-
umph than any previous one, or than any which could
hereafter be. He stood, at this moment, on the very
proudest eminence of superiority, to which the gifts of
intellect, rich lore, prevailing eloquence, and a reputa-
tion of whitest sanctity, could exalt a clergyman in
New England's earliest days, when the professional
character was of itself a lofty pedestal. Such was the
position which the minister occupied, as he bowed his
head forward on the cushions of the pulpit, at the close
of his Election Sermon. Meanwhile Hester Prynne
was standing beside the scaffold of the pillory, with
the scarlet letter still burning on her breast!

Now was heard again the clangor of the music, and
the measured tramp of the military escort, issuing from
the church-door. The procession was to be marshalled
thence to the town-hall, where a solemn banquet would
complete the ceremonies of the day.

Once more, therefore, the train of venerable and ma-
jestic fathers was seen moving through a broad path-
way of the people, who drew back reverently, on eithr

'A

330 THE SCARLET LETTER,

side, as the Governor and magistrates, the old and wise

men, the holy ministers, and all that were eminent and

renowned, advanced into the midst of them. When

they were fairly in the market-place, their presence

was greeted by a shout. This — though doubtless it

might acquire additional force and volume from the

childlike loyalty which the age awarded to its rulers —

was felt to be an irrepressible outburst of enthusiasm

kindled in the auditors by that high strain of eloquence

: which was yet reverberating in their ears. Each felt

': the impulse in himself, and, in the same breath, caught

i it from his neighbor. Within the church, it had hardly

been kept down ; beneath the sky, it pealed upward to

j the zenith. There were human beings enough, and

^ enough of highly wrought and symphonious feeling, to

. produce that more impressive sound than the organ

. tones of the blast, or the thunder, or the roar of the

' sea ; even that mighty swell of many voices, blended

into one great voice by the universal impulse which

makes likewise one vast heart out of the many.

, Never, from the soil of New England, had gone up

such a shout ! Never, on New England soil, had stood

the man so honored by his mortal brethren as the

preacher!

How fared it with him then ? Were there not the

brilliant particles of a halo in the air about his head ?

So etherealized by spirit as he was, and so apotheosized

by worshipping admirers, did his footsteps, in the pro-

ssion, really tread upon the dust of earth ?

REVELATION OF THE SCARLET LETTER. 331

As the ranks of military men and civil fathers moved
onward, all eyes were turned towards the point where
the minister was seen to approach among them. The
shout died into a murmur, as one portion of the crowd
after another obtained a glimpse of him. How feeble
and pale he looked, amid all his triumph ! The energy
— or say, rather, the inspiration which had held him
up, until he should have delivered the sacred message
that brought its own strength along with it from heaven
— was withdrawn, now that it had so faithfully per-
formed its office. The glow, which they had just before
beheld burning on his cheek, was extinguished, like a
flame that sinks down hopelessly, among the late-decay-
ing embers. It seemed hardly the face of a man alive,
with such a deathlike hue ; it was hardly a man with
life in him, that tottered on his path so nervelessly, yet
tottered, and did not fall !

One of his clerical brethren, — it was the venerable
John Wilson, — observing the state in which Mr. Dim-
mes(^ale was left by the retiring wave of intellect and
sensibility, stepped forward hastily to offer his support.
The minister tremulously, but decidedly, repelled the
old man's arm. He still walked onward, if that move-
ment could be so described, which rather resembled the
wavering effort of an infant, with its mother's arms in
view, outstretched to tempt him forward. And now,
almost imperceptible as were the latter steps of his
progress, he had come opposite the well-remembered
and weather-darkened scaffold, where, long since, wit

332 THE SCARLET LETTER.

all that dreary lapse of time between, Hester Prynne
had encountered the world's ignominious stare. There
stood Hester, holding little Pearl by the hand I And
there was the scarlet letter on her breast I The minia-
ter here made a pause ; although the music still played
the stately and rejoicing march to which the procession
moved. It summoned him onward,— onward to the
festival ! — but here he made a pause.

Bellingham, for the last few moments, had kept an
anxious eye upon him. He now left his own place in
the procession, and advanced to give assistance ; judg-
ing, from Mr. Dimmesdale's aspect, that he must other-
wise inevitably fall. But there was something in the
latter's expression that warned back the magistrate,
although a man not readily obeying the vague intima-
tions that pass from one spirit to another. The crowd,
meanwhile, looked on with awe and wonder. This
earthly faintness was, in their view, only another phase
of the minister's celestial strength ; nor would it have
seemed a miracle too high to be wrought for one so
holy, had he ascended before their eyes, waxing* dim-
mer and brighter, and fading at last into the light of
heaven !

He turned towards the scaffold, and stretched forth
his arms.

" Hester," said he, " come hither I Come, my little
Pearl I"

It was a ghastly look with which he regarded them ;
^'U there was something at once tender and strangely

REVELATION OF THE SCARLET LETTER. 333

triumphant in it. The child, with the bird-like motion
which was one of her characteristics, flew to him, and
clasped her arms about his knees. Hester Prynne —
slowly, as if impelled by inevitable fate, and against
her strongest will — likewise drew near, but paused be-
fore she reached him. At this instant, old Roger Chil-
lingworth thrust himself through the crowd, — or, per-
haps, so dark, disturbed, and evil was his look, he rose
up out of some nether region, — ^to snatch back his vic-
tim from what he sought to do I Be that as it might,
the old man rushed forward, and caught the minister
by the arm.

" Madman, hold I what is your purpose ?" whispered
he. " Wave back that woman I Cast off this child !
All shall be well ! Do not blacken your fame, and
perish in dishonor I I can yet save you I Would you
bring infamy on your sacred profession V*

''Ha, tempter I Methinks thou art too late!" an-
swered the minister, encountering his eye, fearfully,
but firmly. " Thy power is not what it was I With
God's help, I shall escape thee now I"

He again extended his hand to the woman of the
scarlet letter.

" Hester Prynne," cried he, with a piercing earnest-
ness, '' in the name of Him, so terrible and so merciful,
who gives me grace j at this last moment, to do what —
for my own heavy sin and miserable agony — I with-
held myself from doing seven years ago, come hither
now, and twine thy strength about me I Thy strenjrt^

334 THE SCARLET LETTER. \

«- ~ — I . , ■ ' — ^ ,

Hester; but let it be guided by the will which God ";
hath granted me I This wretched and wronged old
man is opposing it with all his might ! — ^with all his
own mighty and the fiend's! Come, Hester, come!
Support me up yonder scaffold I"

The crowd was in a tumult. The men of rank and
dignity, who stood more immediately around the clergy-
man, were so taken by surprise, and so perplexed as to
the purport of what they saw, — ^unable to receive the
explanation which most readily presented itself, or to
imagine any other, — that they remained silent and
inactive spectators of the judgment which Providence
seemed about to work. They beheld the minister, lean-
ing on Hester's shoulder, and supported by her arm
around him, approach the scaffold, and ascend its
steps ; while still the little hand of the sin-born child
was clasped in his. Old Roger Chillingworth followed,
as one intimately connected with the drama of guilt
and sorrow in which they had all been actors, and well
entitled, therefore, to be present, at its closing scene.

" Hadst thou sought the whole earth over," said he,

• looking darkly at the clergyman, " there was no one * i
i place so secret, — no high place nor lowly place, where

thou couldst have escaped me, — save on this very
'' scaffold!"

" Thanks be to Him who hath led me hither !" an-

• swered the minister.

' Yet he trembled, and turned to Hester with an ex-
pression of doubt and anxiety in his eyes, not the less

KEVELATION OP THE SCARLET LETTER. 335

evidently betrayed, that there was a feeble smile upon
his lips.

" Is not this better," murmured he, " than what we
dreamed of in the forest?"

" I know not ! I know not !" she hurriedly replied.
" Better? Yea; so we may both die, and little Pearl
die with us!"

" For thee and Pearl, be it as God shall order," said
the minister ; " and Grod is merciful I Let me now do
the will which he hath made plain before my sight.
For, Hester, I am a dying man. So let me make haste
to take my shame upon me I"

Partly supported by Hester Prynne, and holding
one hand of little Pearl's, the Reverend Mr. Dimmes-
dale turned to the dignified and venerable rulers ; to
the holy ministers, who were his brethren; to the
people, whose great heart was thoroughly appalled,
yet overflowing with tearful sympathy, as knowing
that some deep life-matter — ^which, if full of sin, was
full of anguish and repentance likewise — was now to
be laid open to them. The sun, but little past its
meridian, shone down upon the clergyman, and gave
a distinctness to his figure, as he stood out from all
the earth, to put in his plea of guilty at the bar of
Eternal Justice.

" People of New England !" cried he, with a voice

that rose over them, high, solemn, and majestic, — yet

had always a tremor through it, and sometimes a shriek,

struggling up out of a fathomless depth of remorse an'^

22

• \. ^

336 THE SCARLET LETTER.

woe, — ye, that have loved me ! — ^ye, that have deemed
me holy! — behold me here, the one simier of the
world! At last! — at last! — ^I stand upon the spot
where, seven years since, I should have stood; here,
with this woman, whose arm, more than the little
strength wherewith I have crept hitherward, sustains
me, at this dreadful moment, from grovelling down
upon my face! Lo, the scarlet letter which Hester
wears ! Ye have all shuddered at it ! Wherever her
walk hath been, — ^wherever, so miserably burdened,
she may have hoped to find repose, — it hath cast a
lurid gleam of awe and horrible repugnance round
about her. But there stood one in the midst of you,
at whose brand of sin and infamy ye have not shud-
dered !"

It seemed, at this point, as if the minister must
leave the remainder of his secret undisclosed. But he
fought back the bodily weakness, — and, still more, the
faintness of heart, — that was striving for the mastery
with him. He threw off all assistance, and stepped
passionately forward a pace before the woman and the
child.

"It was on him!" he continued, with a kind of
fierceness; so determined was he to speak out the
whole. " God's eye beheld it ! The angels were for-
ever pointing at it ! The Devil knew it well, and fretted
it continually with the touch of his burning finger ! But
he hid it cunningly from men, and walked among you
''^th the mien of a spirit, mournful, because so pure

EEVELATION OF THE SCARLET LETTER. 337

I

in a sinful world! — and sad, because he missed his
heavenly kindred ! Now, at the death-hour, he stands
up before you I He bids you look again at Hester's
scarlet letter I He tells you, that, with all its myste-
rious horror, it is but the shadow of what he bears on
his own breast, and that even this, his own red stigma,
is no more than the type of what has seared his inmost /
heart ! Stand any here that question God's judgment /
on a sinner? Behold! Behold a dreadful witness |
of it!" i

With a convulsive motion, he tore away the minis- \
terial band from before his breast. It was revealed ! 5
But it were irreverent to describe that revelation. For : cs
an instant, the gaze of the horror-stricken multitude | '
was concentred on the ghastly miracle ; while the min- ]
ister stood, with a flush of triumph in his face, as one ;
who, in the crisis of acutest pain, had won a victory.
Then, down he sank upon the scaffold ! Hester partly
raised him, and supported his head against her bosom.
Old Roger Chillingworth knelt down beside him, with
a blank, dull countenance, out of which the life seemed !
to have departed. /

"Thou hast escaped me!" he repeated more than
once. "Thou hast escaped me!"

" May God forgive thee!" said the minister. "Thou,
too, hast deeply sinned I"

He withdrew his dying eyes from the old man, and
fixed them on the woman and the child.

" My little Pearl," said he, feebly, — ^and there was

Tr^-'^^

'i

> I
I

338 THE SCARLET LETTER. \

I

* t

sweet and gentle smile over his face, as of a spirit sink-
ing into deep repose ; nay, now that the burden was
removed, it seemed almost as if he would be sportive
with the child, — " dear little Pearl, wilt thou kiss me
now ? Thou wouldst not, yonder, in the forest 1 But
now thou wilt ?"

Pearl kissed his lips. A spell was broken. The
great scene of grief, in which the wild infant bore a
part, had developed all her sympathies; and as her
tears fell upon her father's cheek, they were the pledge
that she would grow up amid human joy and sorrow,
nor forever do battle with the world, but be a woman •
in it. Towards her mother, too, Pearl's errand as a ^
messenger of anguish was all fulfilled. 1

" Hester," said the clergyman, " farewell."

" Shall we not meet again ?" whispered she, bending
her face down close to his. " Shall we not spend our
immortal life together ? Surely, surely, we have ran-
somed one another, with all this woe ! Thou lookest
far into eternity, with those bright dying eyes 1 Then
'li tell me what thou seest ?"

"Hush, Hester, hush!" said he, with tremulous
solemnity. "The law we broke! — the sin here so
awfully revealed 1 — let these alone be in thy though*'=' *
I fear ! I fear I It may be, that, when we forgot c
God, — ^when we violated our reverence each for 1
other's soul, — ^it was thenceforth vain to hope that
could meet hereafter, in an everlasting and pure r
union. Grod knows; and He is merciful! He ha

• «

1

REVELATION OF THE SCARLET LETTER. 339

proved his mercy, most of all, in my afflictions. By
giving me this burning torture to bear upon my breast I
By sending yonder dark and terrible old man, to keep
the torture always at red-heat ! By bringing me hither,
to die this death of triumphant ignominy before the
' people ! Had either of these agonies been wanting, I
had been lost forever! Praised be his name! His
will be done! Farewell!"

That final word came forth with the minister's ex-
piring breath. The multitude, silent till then, broke
out in a strange, deep voice of awe and wonder, which
could not as yet find utterance, save in this murmur
that rolled so heavily after the departed spirit.

,^^- -^' ^

XXIV.

CONCLUSION.

A FTER many days, when time sufficed for the people
-^ to arrange their thoughts in reference to the fore-
going scene, there was more than one account of what
had been witnessed on the scaffold.

Most of the spectators testified to having seen, on
the breast of the unhappy minister, a scarlet letter
— the very semblance of that worn by Hester Prynne
— ^imprinted in the flesh. As regarded its origin, there
were various explanations, all of which must necessarily
have been conjectural. Some affirmed that the Rever-
end Mr. Dimmesdale, on the very day when Hester
Prynne first wore her ignominious badge, had begun a
course of penance, — which he afterwards, in so many
futile methods, followed out, — ^by inflicting a hideous
torture on himself. Others contended that the stigma
had not been produced until a long time subsequent,
when old Roger Chillingworth, being a potent necro-
mancer, had caused it to appear,- through the agency
of magic and poisonous drugs. Others, again, — anc
those best able to appreciate the minister's peculiai
sensibility, and the wonderful operation of his spirii
upon the body, — ^whispered their belief, that the awful

840

r

CONCLUSION. 341

symbol was the effect of the ever-active tooth of re-
morse, gnawing from the inmost heart outwardly, and
at last manifesting Heaven's dreadful judgment by the
visible presence of the letter. The reader may choose
among these theories. We have thrown all the light
we could acquire upon the portent, and would gladly,
now that it has done its office, erase its deep print out
of our own brain ; where long meditation has fixed it
in very undesirable distinctness.

It is singular, nevertheless, that certain persons, who \
were spectators of the whole scene, and professed never \
once to have removed their eyes from the Reverend \
Mr. Dimmesdale, denied that there was any mark 1
whatever on his breast, more than on a new-bom in- 1
fant's. Neither, by their report, had his dying words ;
acknowledged, nor even remotely implied, any, the ;'
slightest connection, on his part, with the guilt for j
which Hester Prynne had so long worn the scarlet
letter. According to these highly respectable wit- 1
nesses, the minister, conscious that he was dying, — ;
conscious, also, that the reverence of the multitude I
placed him already among saints and angels, — had
desired, by yielding up his breath in the arms of that !
fallen woman, to express to the world how utterly ;
nugatory is the choicest of man's own righteousness. \
After exhausting life in his efforts for mankind's |
spiritual good, he had made the manner of his death ■ ^j
a parable, in order to impress on his admirers the I

mighty and mournful lesson, that, in the view of J^-

842 THE SCARLET LETTER.

finite Purity, we are sinners all alike. It was to teach
them, that the holiest among us has but attained so far
above his fellows as to discern more clearly the Mercy
which looks down, and repudiate more utterly the
phantom of human merit, which would look aspiringly
upward. Without disputing a truth so momentous,
we must be allowed to consider this version of Mr.
Dimmesdale's story as only an instance of that stub-
bom fidelity with which a man's friends — and espe-
cially a clergyman's — ^will sometimes uphold his charac-
ter, when proofs, clear as the mid-day sunshine on the
scarlet letter, establish him a false and sin-stained crea-
ture of the dust.

The authority which we have chiefly followed, — a
manuscript of old date, drawn up from the verbal testi-
mony of individuals, some of whom had known Hester
Prynne, while others had heard the tale from contem-
porary witnesses, — ^fiiUy confirms the view taken in
the foregoing pages. Among many morals which press
upon us from the poor minister's miserable experience,
we put only this into a sentence : — " Be true ! Be true !
Be true ! Show freely to the world, if not your worst,
yet some trait whereby the worst may be inferred !"

Nothing was more remarkable than the change which
took place, almost immediately after Mr. Dimmesdak
death, in the appearance and demeanor of the old m&i
known as Koger Chillingworth. All his strength an
energy — all his vital and intellectual force — seeme
«t once to desert him; insomuch that he positive]

OONCLUIMON. 343

withered up, shrivelled away, and almost vanished
from mortal sight, like an uprooted weed that lies
wilting in the sun. This unhappy man had made the
very principle of his life to consist in the pursuit and
systematic exercise of revenge ; and when, by its com-
pletest triumph and consummation, that evil principle
was left with no fiirther material to support it, when,
in short, there was no more Devil's work on earth for \
him to do, it only remained for the unhumanized mor-
tal to betake himself whither his Master would find
him tasks enough, and pay him his wages duly. But,^
to all these shadowy beings, so long our near acquaint-
ances, — as well Boger Chillingworth as his companions,
— ^we would fain be merciful. It is a curious subject
of observation and inquiry, whether hatred and love
be not the same thing at bottom. Each, in its utmost
development, supposes a high degree of intimacy and
heart-knowledge ; each renders one individual depend-
ent for the food of his affections and spiritual life upon
another; each leaves the passionate lover, or the no
less passionate hater, forlorn and desolate by the with-
drawal of his subject. Philosophically considered,
therefore, the two passions seem essentially the same,
except that one happens to be seen in a celestial
radiance, and the other in a dusky and lurid glow.
In the spiritual world, the old physician and the min-
ister — mutual victims as they have been — ^may, un-
awares, have found their earthly stock of hatred and
antipathy transmuted into golden love.

1

I

N'l

344 THE SCARLET LETTER.

Leaving this discussion apart, we have a matter of
business to communicate to the reader. At old Roger
Chillingworth's decease, (which took place within the
year,) and by his last will and testament, of which
Governor Bellingham and the Reverend Mr. Wilson
were executors, he bequeathed a very considerable
amount of property, both here and in England, to
little Pearl, the daughter of Hester Prynne.

So Pearl — the elf-child, — the demon offspring, as
some people, up to that epoch, persisted in considering
her, — became the richest heiress of her day, in the New
World. Not improbably, this circumstance wrought
a very material change in the public estimation ; and,
had the mother and child remained here, little Pearl,
at a marriageable period of life, might have mingled
her wild blood with the lineage of the devoutest Puri-
tan among them all. But, in no long time after the
physician's death, the wearer of the scarlet letter dis-
appeared, and Pearl along with her. For many years,
though a vague report would now and then find its
way across the sea, — like a shapeless piece of drift-
wood tost ashore, with the initials of a name upon it,
— ^yet no tidings of them unquestionably authentic
were received. The story of the scarlet letter grew
into a legend. Its spell, however, was still potent, and
kept the scaffold awful where the poor minister had
died, and likewise the cottage by the sea-shore, where
Hester Prynne had dwelt. Near this latter spot, one
"^'^rnoon, some children were at play, when they be-

CONCLUSION. 845

held a tall woman, in a gray robe, approach the cot-
tage-door. In all those years it had never once been
opened ; but either she unlocked it, or the decaying
wood and iron yielded to her hand, or she glided
shadow-like through these impediments, — and, at all
events, went in.

On the threshold she paused, — turned partly round,
' — ^for, perchance, the idea of entering all alone, and all
so changed, the home of so intense a former life, was
more dreary and desolate than even she could bear.
But her hesitation was only for an instant, though long
enough to display a scarlet letter on her breast.

And Hester Prynne had returned, and taken up her
long-forsaken shame I But where was little Pearl ? If
still alive, she must now have been in the flush and
bloom of early womanhood. None knew — ^nor ever
learned, with the fulness of perfect c^rtainty-whether
the elf-child had gone thus untimely to a maiden grave ;
or whether her wild, rich nature had been softened and
subdued, and made capable of a woman's gentle happi-
ness. But, through the remainder of Hester's life, there
were indications that the recluse of the scarlet letter
was the object of love and interest with some inhabit-
ant of another land. Letters came, with armorial seals
upon them, though of bearings unknown to English
heraldry. In the cottage there were articles of com-
fort and luxury, such as Hester never cared to use,
but which only wealth could have purchased, and
affection have imagined for her. There were trif -""

4,

346 THE SCARLET LETTER.

too, little ornaments, beautiful tokens of a continual
remembrance, that must have been wrought by deli-
cate fingers, at the impulse of a fond heart. And,
once, Hester was seen embroidering a baby-garment,
with such a lavish richness of golden fancy as would
have raised a public tumult, had any infant, thus ap-
parelled, been shown to our sober-hued community.

In fine, the gossips of that day believed, — and Mr.
Surveyor Pue, who made investigations a century later,
believed,-and one of his recent successors in office,
moreover, faithfully believes, — that Pearl was not
only alive, but married, and happy, and mindful of
her mother; and that she would most joyfully have
entertained that sad and lonely mother at her fire-
side.

But there was a more real life for Hester Prjmne,
here, in New England, than in that unknown region
where Pearl had found a home. Here had been her
sin; here, her sorrow; and here was yet to be her
penitence. She had returned, therefore, and resumed,
— of her own free will, for not the sternest magistrate
of that iron period would have imposed it, — resume<J
the symbol of which we have related so dark a tale.
Never afterwards did it quit her bosom. But, in the
lapse of the toilsome, thoughtful, and self-devotee
years that made up Hester's life, the scarlet lette:
ceased to be a stigma which attracted the world'
scorn and bitterness, and became a type of somethinj

be sorrowed over, and looked upon with awe, ye

CONCLUSION. 847

with reverence too. And, as Hester Prynne had no
selfish ends, nor lived in any measure for her own
profit and enjoyment, people brought all their sorrows
and perplexities, and besought her counsel, as one who
had herself gone through a mighty trouble. Women,
more especially, — in the continually recurring trials
of wounded, wasted, wronged, misplaced, or erring and
sinful passion, — or with the dreary burden of a heart
unyielded, because unvalued and unsought, — came to
Hester's cottage, demanding why they were so wretched,
and what the remedy I Hester comforted and coun-
selled them, as best she might. She assured them, too,
of her firm belief, that, at some brighter period, when
the world should have grown ripe for it, in Heaven's
own time, a new truth would be revealed, in order to
establish the whole relation between man and woman
on a surer ground of mutual happiness. Earlier in
life, Hester had vainly imagined that she herself might
be the destined prophetess, but had long since recog-
nized the impossibility that any mission of divine and
mysterious truth should be confided to a woman stained
with sin, bowed down with shame, or even burdened
with a life-long sorrow. The angel and apostle of the
coming revelation must be a woman, indeed, but lofty,
pure, and beautiful ; and wise, moreover, not through
dusky grief, but the ethereal medium of joy ; and
showing how sacred love should make us happy, by
the truest test of a life successful to such an end !
So said Hester Prynne, and glanced her sad eves

348 THE SCARLET LETTER.

downward at the scarlet letter. And, after many,
many years, a new grave was delved, near an old and
sunken one, in that burial-ground beside whiqh King's
Chapel has since been built. It was near that old and
sunken grave, yet with a space between, as if the dust
of the two sleepers had no right to mingle. Yet one
tomb-stone served for both. All around, there were
monuments carved with armorial bearings; and on
this simple slab of slate — ^as the curious investigator
may still discern, and perplex himself with the pur-
port — ^there appeared the semblance of an engraved
escutcheon. It bore a device, a herald's wording of
which might serve for a motto and brief description
of our now concluded legend ; so sombre is it, and re-
lieved only by one ever-glowing point of light gloomier
than the shadow : —

''on a field, sable, the LETTER A, QULES.''

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